^ 



In Press.-*' THE BEAUTIFUL CIGAR OmL." By INQEAHAM. 




0. 0. FOSTERS \ " HEW YORK BY GA8 LISHT." 26 Cwit«. 

iKhly Popular [- " CELIO ; or, NEW YORK ABOVE GROUND AND UNDER GROUND." C5 C-jj. 



PRICE 25 CENTS 



NEW AMERICAN NOVEL. 

A POPULAR AUTHOR IN A NEW FIELD. 



C E L I O; 



NEW YORK ABOVE-GROUND AND UNDER-GROUND. 

BY G. G. FOSTER, ESQ., 

Author of " Nev) York in Slices," " New York hy Gas-Light" etc., etc. 

The great popularity of the writings of Mr. Foster, as evinced by the immense 
sale of his sketches, " New York in Slices," and " New York by Gas-Light," — 
to not less than One Hundred Thousand in a single year, — has led to the fre- 
quent inquiry, personally and by letters, from all parts of the country, addressed 
to the publishers, whether the author did not intend to try his powers in a con- 
tinued and sustained story. Mr. Foster's peculiar and unparalleled power in 
delineating scenes, incidents, and characters in real life, and throwing around 
them that rosy moonlight of the imagination which at once subdues, refines, and 
warms, has led to an intense desire on the part of his admirers to see him in a 
higher and more sustained flight of composition. 

The publishers, therefore, have great pleasure in announcing the complete suc- 
cess of this last oflx)rt of his pen. It fully equals anything that his warmest 
admirers could desire, and an,immense edition has already been sold. In this 
work the author has given full scope to that keen appreciation of character and 
situation, that enlarged and generous philosophy of life and human destiny, that 
golden and sparkling glow of fancy and imagination, with which his writings are 
more thoroughly imbued than those of any other American author. 

The story is a powerful one ; the plot of absorbing interest ; and the incidents 
and characters so combined and contrasted, as to keep the mind of the reader 
constantly stimulated by a succession of the most thrilling yet chaste and 
artistic passion pictures. In a word, the publishers confidently recommend this 
work as not only by far the highest effort of its author, but as one of the most 
sterling works of fiction that ever emanated from the American press. 



^cu) Hoik: 
DEWITT & DAVENPORT 



FIFTEEN MINUTES 



AROWND 



N E W Y O R K. 



BY 



G. G. FOSTE R, E Sa. 

ADTHOB OP 

'NEW YORK IN SLICES," "NEW YORK BY GASLIGHT," &c., Ac. 



,^0^*^**^^'^^- 



^^ -4Qtrt 



NEW YORK: 



PUBLISHED BY DE WITT & DAVENPORT, 

160 <J> 162 NASSAU eTUBKT. 



/ %i7- 



,44 



Entered aocording to Act of Congress, in the year eighteen hundred and fifty-foor, ' 

BY DE WITT & DAVENPORT. 

In the Clerk's Office of the United States Court for the Southern Diatrict'of 
New York. 



I 

T.ABLE OF CONTENTS. 



■ <♦» 



CHAPTER I. 
A Look Abound and Abodt — The Crystal Palaoe outside » T 

CHAPTER II. 
Thi Coop o'oeiL op the II^lace, inside ..... U 

CHAPTER III. 
Wall Stheft and tbb Merchants' Excuanqb ...» 3S> 

CHAPTER ly. 
Broadway in its Sommer Clotheb 9 

CHAP.TER V. 
A Live Niyw Yobk Editor 9S 

CHAPTER VI. 
A Da8h at tbb FsRRres . ST 

CHAPTER Vn. 
The City Hospital ts Aoouei- SI 

CHAPTER VIIL 
Ths Broad WAT Zsk-Zbu 39 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Crystal Palacs and the Palace of Mirrors ... 37* 

CHAPTER X. 
A Plunge in tui Swimming Batb 49 

CHAPTER XT. 
Fourth op uDLt, prom the Roop . . . ... . ' _ 4P 



ir CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XII. 
Quarter of an Hour dnder an Awming 4q 

CHAPTER XIII. 
A Streak op Sense — Another Peep at Wall Street . . '" 49 

CHAPTER XIV. 
A Stroll in Hoboken ......,,. 52 

CHAPTER XV. 
The Eldridge Street Jail . 55 

CHAPTER XVI. 
"My Uncle's" . ' 58 

CHAPTER XVn. 
Behind the Scenes - . . . 61 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
The Bloomers in Broadway ....... 65 

CflAPTJER XIX. 
A Short Chapter on Hodse-Huntinq ..... ^ 

CHAPTER XX. 
The Italian Opera and Max Maretzek ..... 71 

CHAPTER XXI. 
New York Going into the Country — a Chapter for the First 
OP July . . 7S 

CHAPTER XXII. 
Chief op Police — A True Romancb of Life in New York . ' 77 

CHAPTER XXni. 
The Press and a Public Dinner 81 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
The New York Custom House . ...... 85 

CHAPTER XXV. 
A Fashionable Gamblinp House— An Hour at Pat Hearn'^ 88 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
JuLLiBN AT Castle Garden ....... 92 



CONTENTS. V 

CHAPTER XXVn. 
Plba3Dhes or Hotel Lifk 94 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
Life on a Railroad — Scenes in a Tdnnel • ' ^ . . 90 

CHAPTER XXIX. 
The Down-Town Eating-IIoosb 98 

CHAPTER XXX. 
A "Walk through Gree>nwood 102 

CHAPTER XXXI. 
A Touch at Manners and Morals . . . . . . 100 

CfHAPTER XXXII. 
A Saturday Night Ramble 100 



FffTEEN MINUTES 

AROUND NEW YORK. 



CHAPTER I. 

A GENERAL LOOK AROUND A5D ABOUT. 

New York in 1853 ! A prolific subject, indeed— and one which, to 
do it justice, requires un amount of labor, care, experience, and appli- 
cation, of which the uninitiated can form but a very va^uc opinion. 
Within the past t€n years, New York has changed more rapidly than 
any other city ever did — changed not only in its material extent and 
physical aspect, but in its moral tone and composition, and especially in 
its relative position i« respect to the other great cities of the world. 
Ten years ago — we speak not of the last century, a field of comment 
and wonderment suIBciently occupied by the Ijaurie Twaddlers of the 
last and present generations — ten years ago. New York was still en- 
gaged in the struggle for metropolitan supremacy. Pliiladelphia and 
Boston — the one on account of its manufactures and former position, 
and the other on account of its railroads and intellectual activity — each 
contended stoutly for the palm, and did not consent to pass into the 
rank of secondary cities but after a long and bitter contest. Even 
now, some ambitious frog, in one or other of these small ponds, ©cca- 
eionally swells up to an unusual size, and tells the world that it is at 
least as big as the ox. These harmless demonstrations, however, are 
only indulged in by the "young mothers" of the provincial press. The 
respectable and experienced matrons — as well as the rest of the world — 
have settled down in the comforable conclusion that New York is 
*'Bome pnmjjkins," and that this is the only place where the " Elephant" 
can be seen in all his glory. 

It was, in faet, a necessity for so large and controlling an empire as 
the United States, to have a centre — a metropolis. A nation la but the 
gymbol of the individual. There must be a head — a heart — as well m 
body, limbs, uud muscles. Nationa do not progress merely by physical 



8 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

extension. The great interests of fashion, society, art, literature — ^in a 
■word, the realm of genius and the imagination — must be, developed 
step by step with the material growth, or civilization retrogrades to 
barbarism, and its highest achievements are worth no more, in the 
great game of life, than the battles of the Indians on the prairies, or 
the buffalo hunts at the foot of the Rocky Mountains. 

Well ! New York being, then, the admitted metropolis of the New- 
World, we can easily understand the intense interest which attaches to 
its slightest movements. It is in this view that the present task is 
undertaken, and if we do not succeed in conveying to the public who 
read these sketches, a better idea of the real character of the various 
classes of society and occupations in New York than they can obtain 
elsewhere, why, we shall have failed to accomplish what we set about. 
At all events, you will lose nothing by giving us a trial. Let us start, 
then, without further preface. 

THE CRYSTAL PALACE OUTSIDE. 

Yovir chief motive, of course, in coming to New York at the present 
time, was to see the Crystal Palace. Not that you had any very cor- 
rect or decided idea as to what the Crystal Palace was or is — but that, 
as every body has been for some months past talking and -writing about 
the Crystal Palace, and as you have been told that all the world is to 
be there, you naturally feel that you ought to be there too ; and so, 
here you are. 

Of course, you have put up at the Hotel, (We don't men- 
tion the name, for fear of being accused of partiality) Let us take an 
onmibus, and make our initial visit to tho precincts of the Crystal 
Palace. 

And, by the way, It would be well to commence by giving you some 
accurate information in respect to the various means of reaching the 
Palace. We will take our stand at St. Paul's, and describe things ono 
by one. 

There go the Sixth avenue stages, white and red, or entirely red. 
There are two lines — the " Empire," and the " Waverly." The former 
go up Broadway to Ninth street, then down Ninth to the Sixth avenue, 
and so up the avenue to the Crystal Palace — passing directly by one of 
the principal entrances, and the most eligible of all. The "Waverly" 
line goes down Eighth street to Sixth avenue — not down Waverly 
Place, as one would naturally suppose. The " Amity street and Seventh 
avenue" stages, (omnibuses ai-e always called stages in New York,) pass 
up Broadway to Amity street — down Amity — through Sixth and Green- 
wich avenues, to Seventh, and so within one square of the Palace. These 
stages are white, with dark-blue lettering. The various Eighth avenue 
lines of stages go within two squares of the Palace — all but the old 
Bleecker street, or " Kaickerbocker" line,- which stops at Twenty-third 
street. The Sixth avenue stages all stop at Twenty-thu-d street to 
change horses, which we consider to be a great bore, although probably 
they don't. 

Then there are the Fifth avenue stages, (dark-blue, with red or yel- 
low letters,) and the Broadway, (white, with red letters,) which take 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 9 

you near enough to the Palace, for all practical purposes. Besides these 
there are the railroads — the Sixth and Eighth avenue, especially. 
These start a car a minute from the corner of Chambers street, frun- 
ning down by the upper end of the Park, and past the Irving House,) 
and take passengers through a most pleasant part of the city, and over 
a smooth, rapid-running track. The Hixth avenue cars take you directly 
to the Palace, and arc of course the most eligible. If you find your.s*elf 
too far up town for these, you can take a oar at the corner of Broadway 
and Canal street, belonging to either of these lines, and coming on to 
the principal track at Yarick street. A car belonging to each of these 
lines Ls always standing at Canal street, and is despatched the moment 
its successor arrives. They leave about once in three minutes, and are 
a great convenience. 

We have now shown you the prin( ipal means by regular puljlic con- 
veyance, of reaching the Crystal Palace : And there Ls one thing we 
wish you particularly to observe — it is, that every omnibus and car in 
New York, always goes irrevocably according to the direction painted 
on it. If you enter a car, or stage, having "Sixth avenue" painted 
on it, you may be sure it goes to the Sixth avenue. You need ask no 
questions and have no fear. Every public vehicle goes exactly according 
to its label ; and a little attention to this will save a world of anxiety 
and vexation. In coming dewn town, however, from the Palace, yoa 
must take care to distinguish between the cars which run only to Canal 
street, and those which go clear through to Chaml^ers street. If you 
don't, you will give yourself, perhaps, half a mile walk for nothing. 

As to. getting about town in a cab, you had better make a bargain 
with the driver before you start. If you wish to stop on the way, engage 
him by the hour — one dollar for the first, and seventy-live cents for every 
succeeding hour. Otherwise, twenty-five cents each person, every time 
you stop. If any driver attempts to impose upon you, pay him all he 
asks, and take down the number of his carriage. Your own statement, 
at the Mayor's Office, in the southwest room of the City Hall, will re- 
fund your money and fiue the owner of the carriage $5. The moment 
the driver sees, by your acquiescing in his demands, and taking doixm his 
number, that you are op to the trap, he will come down. A know- 
ledge of these little points is an absolute security against imposition 
and extortion ; and those who neglect to inform themselves on thp sub- 
ject, have no claim on our sympathies. 

WhUe on the subject of omnibuses, cabs, public conveyances, &c., &c., 
we may as well mform the stranger of the minute details of the process 
of getting to his hotel from the railroad or steamboat landing. If you 
go to a first class hotel, you had better, by all means, see the driver of 
the coach belonging to that hotel. Give liun your checks, seat yourself 
in his coach, and you have no more trouble. He will look after your 
baggage much sharper than you could do yourself, and will take every 
possible care of you — his recompense being an extra twenty-five cents, 
which you had bettor not pay yourself, as you will find it charged in 
your bill all the same. 

If, however, you choose a cab, all yon have to do is to take a look 
over the crowd, select a fellow with an honest face, take his card, and 
hold it up 80 that all the others can see it. There is honor among 



10 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK- 

cabmen, as well as among thieves ; and as soon as they see that you 
have a card, they will let you alone. You may g^ive your checks to the 
driver, if you please, but we should advise you to go with him yourself, 
and sec that all your bagga-ge is put on board. If the driver makes 
any disturbance, after you arrive at your destination, offer him mme- 
diaUly everything Jie asks, and iah& down his numJ*er. It will work like 
ma^ic ; or, if here and there a driver runs the risk of your preferring a 
complaint, and accepts what he has unjustly demanded, you have only 
to go to the Mayor's Office and make a complaint, when the money wiu 
be refunded, and the owner of the vehide fined $5. 

We haye now shown you how to get to your hotel without being 
pluudered— now for a cruise " about town." 



CHAPTER II. 

THE COUP D'OEIL OF THE PALACE- INSIDE. 

For some blocks we have been aware, by the accnmulation of coffee 
honecs, grog-shops, " saloons," peep-shows of living alligators, model- 
artists and three-headed calves, that we were approaching the newly- 
discoverd, Sedgwickian centre of the metropoliK. " Fortieth street — 
Crystal Palace" — says the conductor, stopping the cars handily on the 
crossing. You get out, and raising your eyes, you arc for a moment 
transfixed with delight and wonder at the beautiful dome, rising from 
the centre of the Palace, and hanging in air aa lightly as a new-blown 
bubble, which the next breath will undulate to and fro. The defect of 
the Palace, architecturally considered, Ls the lateral retreating walls, 
which, from a central front view, give it an insignificant appearance ; 
but from the corner of either Fortieth or Forty-second street, this de- 
fect is lost sight of, and the entire structure fills you with ita grandeur 
as well as grace and beauty. 

Let us pass by the southern entrance, and round to the entrance on 
Forty-second street. Here we go, through a pat^Mit revolving regis- 
tering gateway, which keeps accurate tally of all who go through. It 
is an English contribution to the Fair, and is an ingenious contrivance 
— unnecessarily clumsy and massive, however. Going straight down 
the North Nave, we are soon arrested by the opening extent and mag- 
nificence of the view. In the centre stands the colossal equestrian 
statue of Washington, by Morochetti, grandly overlooking the scene. 
It has been much and ignorantly criticised. Those who have spoken 
disparagingly of it, appear for the most part to bo ignorant of the fact 
that a colossal statue can only be jastly judged from a projier stand- 
point. The true critic can create this stand-point in his own mind, and 
can therefore see the real beauties and defects of the work, and the 
real effect it would produce when viewed from the point intended by 
the artist. The uninitiated, however, do not possess this faculty — a 
gift closely allied to the creative power of the artist him.self. But, un- 
fortunately, many of them do profess the faculty of writing, and getting 
printed what they write. So the {>erccptions of the mass, but just 
awakening to the light of art, are beclouded and obscured, and incal- 
culable damage is done to the cause of popular refiueni'jnt. M;wo- 
cbetti's statue, though not faultless, is, on the whole, a noble work. It 
contains many points of great excellence — and especially the mien, atti- 
tude, and expression of W;u«;hington are truly adniiralik-. Tlio grub- 
bing critics see nothing but the warrior's broeches — and tiicir modesty 
is terribly shocked. Tliey would find more con^'uial studies in tiie 
"Living Models" across the way. 



12 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

The nest object that strikes the attention is the " Lion and Amazon" 
of Kiss. Tliis is a group already celebrated in Europe, and we will 
not criticise it in detail. It has great beauties, and one or two defects 
quite unaccountable in so true an artist — for instance, the right thigh 
of the Horse is much too small, and the left leg of the Amazon consid- 
erably too long. The agonized terror of the Horse, the clinging tena- 
city of the Lion, the hold of the Amazon's hand upon the mane, and 
the high-poised lance aimed unerringly at the monster's eye, are mag- 
nificent. But if you want your heart to beat faster than usual, take a 
position about fifteen steps from the statue, in a northwest direction, 
and examine well the head, face, the attitude, and the form of the Ama- 
zon herself Ah ! what a woman ! Full of strength, courage, self- 
possession — not a line of fear in form or feature — her round and flexible 
form, beneath whose elastic flesh you can see the heart beat and the 
firm bosom sink and swell with the half-suspended breath — she looks 
the very goddess Bellona imagined by the ancienta, (who, confound 
them, imagined everything, and left us to imitate.) But now let your 
glance glide softly down that glorious form, and across to the knee and 
foreshortened thigh, towards you. They are the limbs of a young girl, 
that never encountered aught more terrible than her mother's lap. So 
tender, so infantile in their round, unconscious voluptuousness — so 
plump I It makes you faint to look. And herein is the genius of the 
artist mostly displayed : that while he has succeeded in endowing his 
Amazon with all the strength, and courage, and physical dexterity, 
demanded by the occasion, he has still exquisitely preserved all the fas- 
cinating femininity of the woman. What a lesson to our " strong- 
minded women 1" 

We now go back a little, and wander delightedly along a row of 
those snowy marble children of art contributed by Italy to this noble 
Gallery of Sculpture — for so it is, with a world of costly stuffs and pro- 
ductions of human skill, profusely piled round for a back-ground. We 
must not dare to pause but a moment before each one — or the day, the 
week, would be consumed in silent admiration or dreaming reverie, and 
not a line would be written. There — see that Flute-player ! Was 
ever anything so perfect ? — the two small, girlish breasts pressed 
together by the attitude of the lovely arms holding the flute to the 
lips — don't you see the white, firm flesh palpitate ? No ! Well, we 
do — and that's enough for us 1 Then what think you of this upright, 
self-poised figure of "Truth," naked and pure as a beam of light in the 
blue sky — looking at herself in a silver mirror ? Do you see anything 
immodest in that figure ? Would you do anything but admire and 
reverence it, for worlds, if it were this moment to become alive, and 
look at you with those immaculate eyes ? No, for your life you dare 
not. Apollo would transfix you with a fiery arrow, could you but 
dream of such presumption. 

' There lies a sleeping babe — oh, how b&antiful, how pure, how inno- 
cent, how glorious, is this unstained humanity, transfigured by the 
artist's touch to an immortal form ! It is not sacrilege to worship art, 
for it is the forerunner and symbol of God himself — the only thing but 
quenchless human love, that we dare worship of this cold, half-frozen 
world. Then come with us to this " Leda and the Swan," by Crofif 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 13 

— Croff, remember that name, for the swans of immortality already are 
learning to sing it. Our swan — our God-Swan, with the downy bosom, 
so soft and warm that it docs not startle the bosom atill whiter, and 
softer, and warmer, of the dazzling young crL-ature, nestles lovingly ia 
her lap. The long, graceful neck twines in her pleased arms, and 
clings like a stream of kisses between her uncon.'^cious breasts — glides 
along her neck, graceful as itself, and the head lifts, as with passion's 
own fingers, the hair that tendrils the white temples, and whispers in. 
the unconscious ear the talismauic word that unveils the universe to 
her wondering so»l. L®ok at the face, where this word, lighting the 
lamp ©f love within the bosom's alabaster shrine, spreads such a glow 
of amazed rapture and expectation as only the voice of a God could 
create. 

Let us pass round the " Austrian" department, where this statue is 
placed, (why? since it is of Milan,) and enter the solemn, darkened 
tent of Christ and the Apostles." Were this gallery of Thorwaldsen's 
greatest work to be opened to the public by itself, the whole world 
would run to sec it. But here it is only one of the attractions. The 
visitors have not yet got up to the point of understanding and appre- 
ciating this great work, but it will do so. Daguerreotypes and lace 
pelerines will not hold them forever. 

Of course, we can go no farther in our mention of individual works 
of art, lest our look should turn out rather a criticism than a picture. 
But we cannot help mentioning the " Grisly Bear and the Hunter" — 
one of the most life-like and terribly powerful works we have seen. 
The immense and crushing strength of the bear, the feeble, final strug- 
gle of the hunter, whose head afid left arm have fallen relaxed in death, 
while the remainder of the body still quivers with the last muscular 
action of life — are something that make you shudder with a sickening 
horror. 

And so, for the first time in America, we have an opportunity of 
seeing, studying, understanding, the sublime art of sculpture, in its tro- 
phies, won from the old homes of the sculptor's genius in Europe. By- 
and-by the picture gallery will give us the same chance to know what 
painting is. And the treasures of art, thus gathered from the difi'erent 
nations of Europe, are brought to our capital of the New World, as 
Napoleon sent to his metropolis of the old — to embellish, to enrich and 
to teach our eager and ambitious nation what we most desire to know. 
But, not like Napoleon the conqueror, have these spoils of art been 
gathered — not at the price of a decimated populace, whose bravest and 
most precious blood has been poured out upon the battle-field — not at 
the price of a nation bankrupted, of empires and kingdoms dismembered, 
of governments overturned, and a whole world steeped in blood and 
horrors. A few private gentlemen, wliose unobtrusive lives passed at 
tiie desk or the counting-house, had accumulated a few hundred thou- 
sand dollars — conceived the idea of doing by themselves for their coun- 
try what tlie governments of England and France had done or were 
doing for theirs. A few articles in our newspapers — a few letters sent 
to and fro by our international fleets of ocean steamers, English, 
French, German, and American — and behold the result 1 llow will 
all the havoc and devastation that the " combined fleets" may work, or 



14 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

may even now have wrought, within sight of the dome of St. Sophia, 
compare with this peaceful and beautiful sight, beneath the dome of 
our people's Crystal Palace — this beautiful temple of art and science ? 
Let history answer to posterity this pregnant question. 

We have no time to-day to go further through the Palace — to mount 
these elegant stair-cases and penetrate the labyrinthine galleriee, pro- 
tected by the beautiful and graceful wire railing, as light and pretty as 
a lady's lace ruffle. We must take another day to examine the count- 
less and precious objects of art, and science, and manufactures, with 
which the Palace is Med. Indeed, many days might be agreeably and 
instructively spent here. But we can only give one more to the Pal- 
ace, and must then hasten to visit and explore the other quarters of the 
city. 



5? .... ' 



CHAPTER III. 

WALL STREET AND THE MERCHANTS' EXCirANQK. 

Thk stock sales" are over. The little group, consisting of some two 
score of the initiated, who andorstood the mysterious jargon going oa 
within the inner red-canopied sanctuary of the Exchange, and a few 
wondering outsiders, who knew no more of it than did the Epicurean 
©f the mysteries of IsLs, that daily takes its place around the chancel 
railings of this erinv-oii-canopicd altar of Mammon, have dispersed. 
The loud-mouthed auctioneer, selling most picturestjue and romantically 
situated village lots, country residences, villas, mansions — io fact, cas- 
tellatfctl palaces, surrounded by century old parks, stocked with deer 
and pheasant,s — have all bawled themselves hoarse and gone to their 
onderground dens to count their honestly earned gains of the morning. 
The memljers of the "third board" are siio> ping about "the street," 
picking up items here and there of what has really been going on during 
the morning among the big bugs ; who is " short," who is "lame," who 
has been "cornered," and what is whispered about among the knowing 
ones as the programme for to-morrow. 

It i's a quarter past two o'clock. There is an apparent lull in tlie 
etreet — but it is only apparent. The forty-five minutes between this 
time and three o'clock contrive to crowd themselves with more 
anxiety, solicitude, hope, fear, despair, and mental agony than was ever 
got together in any other three-quarters of an hour since the last mo- 
ments of the flood. 

From our look-out behind this titanic granite column, let us look 
abroad upon the street. The snn pours down his streams of red hot 
light upon the step and sidewalk. The Cnstom House gleams like an 
immense live coal at white heat, and the banks that contain this -deep- 
flowing current of Wall street, with their sombre hues of dirty greys 
and hot, smouldering browns, throw back the sunshine with livid bfams 
that suffocate the very air. Still, through this gasping atmnf;phere, 
hurry, with silent, shuffling step, throngs of men, old, young, well dreJls- 
ed and untidy, fat, lean, tall, short — all different, yet all alike, with 
Uiat expression of uniform an.xiety, which, to the knowing observer, us 
as unmistakable as the aspect of a counterfeit bill to a broker, ^p 
and down tlie steep steps of the banks, which at every few pao,\s dip 
themselves in the current — in and out at softly-swinging gi-een baize 
doors, that turn as noiselessly as the gates over which is written in the 
vision of the immortal Italian, " Let those abandon hope w!io enter 
here" — plunging down into the innumerable caves that line the street 
aud lie below the level of the walk : see them go. Would not a rational 
being, stationed here for the first time, and knowing nothing of the 



16 FIFTEEN mNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

great game of mouey-making which absorbs the faculties of the presenl 
age — would he not conclude that some gigantic luuatic asylum had beett 
let loose, and that its inmates were rushing about ia disgust with their 
newly-found freedom, trying to find their quiet and -sombre cells again ? 

But let them go — the rabble of the street : while we turn our atten- 
tiou within, and see what is going on in this beautiful Rotunda, with its 
marble walls, and graceful Corinthian columns, upon which those compo- 
site capitals have not been placed. The in-comers here are, for the most 
part, evidently of the mercantile old fogy class. They pause to blow, 
at every three or four paces, as they hoist fheir heavy and unwieldy per- 
sons slowly and toiJiugly up the granite steps. The Shaving Cream 
man lifts his hat with involuntary respect, as they pass by. They are 
evidently themselves the shaving cream of our financial aristocracy. 
Heaven help those who are so unlucky as to be shaved by them ! 

Within the Rotunda you only see a crowd of commonplace people, 
winding in and out, grouping themselves together, pairing off, and talk- 
ing in a low voice in some corner, or against a pillar — and you hear a 
confused, perpetual murmur, like tke swarming of beee, or the voice of 
the sea in a calm. The lofty panels of the dome catch and reverberate 
every sound, sending it back with increased force, upon the ear, until 
the accumulation of these whisperings and low talkings, becomes thun- 
derous in your ear, and almost crazes you. 

If you listen to wlvat is said, here, unless you are initiated, you will 
learn very little that will guide you in forming an opinion of what is 
going on. Half phrases, broken sentences, mysterious gestures and 
signs — these form the staple ofVhat is doing here. If you have not 
the key, you might as well be an attendant upon the worship at a 
Chiiiese temple to Josh (not Silsbee), and chop sticks. 

Here, at this hour, daily congregate the real, bona fide, no-mistake 
magnates of our financial and commercial aristocracy. Having takqn 
their two shilling dinner at Brown's, or their cut of pie and coffee (or 
perhaps even something stronger), at the Verandah, they meet here to 
discuss the commercial news of the day — the prices of exchange, money 
and produce — and to play the great game of gambling, which leads to 
respectabiUty asd success, or to disaster, bankruptcy and ruin. 

"Treason is ne'er successful; what's the reason? 
When 'tis successful, 'tis no longer treason." 

Hudibras, nor any other satirist of human nature, ever wrote any- 
thing truer than that ; and it applies with especial force to the Mer- 
chants' Exchange of New York. The hours devoted to the brokers 
and avowed speculators are a different affair. But at this particular 
hour of the day — this " High Change,'' as it is called par excellence — the 
millionaires and magnates of the city — those men whose slightest re- 
marks uttered on 'Change are greedily recorded by the commercial 
reporters and trumpeted forth the next morning as if the Delphian 
oracle had spoken, meet here, and in whispers, shrugs and inuendoes, 
decide prices, fortunes and destinies, which ramify through every rank 
of society, and effect, for good or evil, the whole movement and life of 
the community. It is they who get up or suppress panics — who cause 
money to be "light" or "easy" — and whose decisions, formed upon 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 17 

their own personal and private j^rabling interests, settle the qneation 
whether the country is to be prasperoua or unfortunate. 

Yonder, prowling about like a cat at midnight, among the tiles and 
chimneys, is a commercial reporter, the " money market man " of a 
daily paper. If eare were ever useful, his are so. Each oiie of theso 
somewhat ungraceful auricular appendages, opened to its fullest extent, 
is drinking in the whispered, broken, ejaculatory conversations going 
on around him. With the electric apprehension only to be acquired 
by such a life of experience as his, he gathers into the focus of his 
brain, all the different rays of intelligence, news and thought, floating 
about, in this gold-impregnated atmosphere. When he leaves the Ro- 
tunda, which will not be till the " last cat is hung," he will linger down 
the steps and along the walk in the vicinity, to catch some lacrgard 
millionaire by the button, and try to worm out of him the secret of 
some " transaction" in flour, or grain, or what not, that has not " trans- 
pired," Then off he rushes to the telegraph office, to put his Southern 
and Western correspondents in possession of the important secret that 
" 20,000 barrels flour were sold to-day, at an advance of 6d on yester- 
day's quotations — to be delivered next week." The same astounding 
intelligence is repeated in the evening editions of his own paper, and in 
sundry correspondences which he keeps up with journals out of the 
city. These apparently insignificant faets are what regulate and con- 
trol the whole movement of society and decide those other all-important 
questions, whether madame is to have a new carriage and mademoiselle 
a new lover, who is only to be caught in a point^lace net stretched over 
a palpitating bosom fswelliiig with vanity, not love) ; or whether the 
old Brougham and the old Harry are to do until the next favorable 
turn in the market. 

The fatal hour of three is chiming from the spire of Trinity — that 
beautiful, pure and holy monument of art, rising like an exhalation from 
the fiery dust of the city, and looking solemnly down ujwn the clamor 
and crowd of Wall street. The banks have already their shutters 
closed, though now and then some belated customer steals out from the 
door and rushes wildly off with a bit of paper in hts hand, which he 
savagely crushes up in his fingers, lest it should escape his grasp and 
have to be taken up over agai-n to-morrow. The street grows rapidly 
vague and silent — footsteps echo but rarely along the pavomeut — the 
omnibuses cease to stop at the head of the street to wait for passengers 
— the clock points to ten minutes after three, and Wall street has lock- 
ed np and gone home. What a time we have been lingering here ! 
We have consumed almost the other three-quarters of an hour which 
we had wrenched from the business of the day, for our visit to Wall 
street. 

But wo must not quit this important and interesting quarter of New 
York without some grave and profitable reflections. Who, then, are 
these favored and powerful individuals who exert this immense control 
over society and the world ? What they were, we will say nothing 
about : as to who and what they a>-e, go to Jullion's or Ole Bul'V, or 
Sontag's, and you will sec. Thoy are the patrons of the Opera— the 
hope of Art in this country and this age : and the beauty of it is, that 
they know as much of paiutiug, of statuary, of architecture, and the 



18 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

belles lettres, as of mnsic. Tliey are quite as familiar with Shakespeare 
and Milton, Shelley and Tennyson, Byron and Coleridge, as with Ros- 
sini and Meyerbeer. There is no conceivable subject of poetry, art or 
literature, upon which they will not pronounce a judgment with the 
authority of a critic and the prolixity of an amateur. They have that 
which is so much better than knowledge, or study, or experience, or 
brains, or in fact, than anything but money — they have position ; and 
that position they have obtained and can only keep because of their 
money. No one cares to dispute with them their claims to fashion and 
exclusiveness. No one dares to exhibit the ludicrous mockery of their 
pretensions to elegance and social eminence. No one daree lay bare 
the lie upon which they live, nor to hold then-i up for what they are. 
No one dares question them, as they stride insolently through the tem- 
ple of fashion and good society, or march disdainfully and with flying 
colors to their velvet-cushioned pew in Grace Church. While all know 
the truth, yet they pass unquestioned. Why is this ? Because the great 
majority of their neighbor are as bad as themselves, and dare not for 
their lives agitate the question of an investigation into the title deeds 
of those who hold within their grasp the lordly domains of aristocracy 
and fashion. The few who might safely challenge these vulgar pre- 
tenders, shrink with instinctive disgust from the thankless task ; while 
of the great struggling, fighting, straining world below them, each 
hopes to receive, at some remote period, the favor of a smile of recog- 
nition from these misshapen images that the demon of snob democracy 
sets up in the niches of the beautiful and the great. 

Let us retura from our long and interesting detour to Wall street 
and the purlieus of the Exchange. Let us watch the process by which 
the fortunes are accumulated that enable their possessors thus to lord it 
over the world, and climb to these places of eminence and distinctioH 
which should be reserved alone to the wise, the brilliant and the good. 
We will not descend to the particulars of the various transactions 
which go to make up the sum of that profession known as trade. Suf- 
fice it to say, that the foundation of it all, the secret of success, the 
,key to wealth and power, is the cautious over-reaching of the neighbor. 
So long as the merchant or the speculator maintains untarnished that 
conventional honor which thieves find it absolutely necessary to enforce 
in the division of their plunder ; so long as his bank account is good 
and his credit untainted in "the street," no matter how savagely he 
may oppress the pooj* man within his power — no matter how many 
hearts he may have wrung with anguish, how many lips may turn white 
with hunger, how many desperate souls driven to crime, how many 
milk-white virgin bosoms be given to the polluting touch of lust, for 
money to buy bread — how many fellow beings may be wholly crushed 
and made forever desperate by the iron grasp of this man, he is still 
respectable, "one of the most respectable of our citizens." And should 
one of his beggared victims cross his path on his way to church, or 
entreat bat a solitary penny to stave off the pangs of hunger, he would 
assume the indignant air of a martyr, suffering under the persecutions 
of an insolent and ungrateful world. 

The engines and instruments by which this man works are numeraus 
and characteristic. Sometimes he forestalls the market of a certain 



FIFTEEN inNUTES AR©UND NEW YORK. 19 

Idnd of produce, and theu when his carefully concealed operations are 
completed, gradnally expands the price in accordance with the increas- 
ing demand, until he thus gathers his thousands from the absolute neces- 
sities of the community. Sometimes he organizes a company to kindly 
supply the people with money, or to dig coal, or copper, or zinc, or lead, 
from fabulous mines, drawn carefully out on paper maps, and situated 
in some inaccessible Sahara amid the wild regions of New Jersey. Then 
lie sells the stock out upon a fictitious valuation got up by incessant 
puffs in the leading commercial papers, and so makes a fortune, and the 
scheme explodes. Sometimes he discovers that the interests and honor 
of the nation require a railroad from Frogtown to Tadpolopolis, and a 
similar operation liiics his pockets at the cost of a few hundred green 
victims ; or perha})s the commercial prosperity of the Empire State 
demands that a line of steamships should be established to break down 
all opposition, and })rove that some things can be done as well as others. 
Straightway the newspaper pumps are put in operation, and books of 
subscription opened, and flaming appeals made to the patriotism of 
Congress for a small appropriation of a million or two, just by way 
of experiment, and to sustain the honor of the country. Of course the 
stock is subscribed and paid for by the victims, while the appropriation 
goes into the pockets of the shrewd capitalist, and he becomes more 
magnificent, more haughty and insolent than ever. Arrived at the sta- 
tion of the millionaire, whether in fact or in renown, it makes no differ- 
ence, he has forgotten himself and all the incidents that might embar- 
rass or humiliate him in his present position. Trace him back but a 
single generation, and we may find his paternal ancestor cobbling boots 
or hammering at a barrel ; while on the maternal side, the shop-board 
and the goose loom in the distance, and a well-worn thimble would be 
the only proper seal and device for the family coat of arms. 

Such is a fair and not overdrawn picture of a type of the money, 
shop-keeping aristocracy of the New World — a race of beings who, as 
a natural historian, we undertake to say, have never been equaled on 
the face of this earth, in all that is pompons without dignity, gaudy 
without magnificence, lavish without taste, and aristocratic without 
good manners 



CHAPTER IV. 

BROADWAY IN ITS SUMMER CLOTHBS. 

From Wall street, let us take a stroll up Broadway. Look up at 
the Trinity Church clock, and see what time it is. What 1 It is 
stopped again ! — suspended business, eh ? — and is fairly to be enrolled 
in the catagory of lame ducks ! It has for some weeks been going on 
time, but the tick now seems to be exhausted, and all hands are brought 
to a regular stand-still. No doubt the old clock, from its proximity to 
Wall street, has felt the contagion of the terrible excitement among the 
bulls and bears going on there, and has been dipping into some of the 
desperate speculations as thick as blackberries in those diggings. The 
fact is, we suspect the old fellow has been awfully bitten, and hasn't a 
" quartei'^' left, and that all his " insides" are in such a state of exhaus- 
tion and derangement that it is doubtful whether he will ever again 
make good time if he runs. The defalcation of this elevated public 
functionary is at this moment particularly unfortunate, as the rush of 
business down town is so tremendous that people don't have time to 
pull out their watches, and can only now and then take a hasty glance 
at the spire of Trinity, which stands like a grim sentinel over this laby- 
rinthian cave — just to see how near three o'clock it is. We hear that, 
solely on account of the dissipation of this clock, and its not keeping 
regular hours, several supposed-to-be wealthy individuals have forgot- 
ten to pay their notes during the last week, and are now in a state of 
suspended animation, similar to that of the clock itself. Well, never 
mind — it is not yet four o'clock. Let us up Broadway, leisurely, and see 
what is going on. 

Although it is September, yet the summer is still here, with its 
thousands of summer visitors, while our own citizens remain tenaciously 
out of town, clinging to the fading dissipations of Saratoga and New- 
port, or quietly and sensibly enjoying the delights of hundreds of shady 
and romantic retreats within easy railroad reach of Wall street and the 
City Hall. 

Meanwhile the city, though deprived of those who fondly think they 
are the salt and spice that save it from spoiling, is quite as busy, as 
noisy, as gay, and as exciting, as when Operadom, with its feathers and 
flummery, is in full state. In fact, we think New York never enjoys 
herself quite so heartily as in August and September, when the citizens 
of the west and south meet here for their annual dip and polish in the 
magic sea of metropolitan life. The splendid mansons of the Fifth 
avenue and the West End are hermetically o'losed, and it gives one a 
cold shudder to go by them ; they seem like a sort of Palmyi-a in the 
desert, abandoued by its imperial and dissipated revellers. Meanwhile, 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 21 

the BOcial moyement concentrates about the hotel.'', where dinncri', rci- 
ceptions, soirees, and hops, rule and embellish the hour 

This phase of life In New York is not without, certain distinctive and 
characteristic points of interest. At the theatre and concerts, at the 
Chrystal Palace, the afternoon promenade, the drive in Broadway — 
you encounter a style of dress and manner as un-Ncw-Yorkish as pos- 
sible. Elderly gentlemen, in remarkably-cut black coat and trowsers, 
with black satin waistcoats and antiquated chokes, scramble into wrong 
omnibusees, attended by two or three ladies attired like duchesses in 
masquerade — and, after long and earnest conversations among them- 
selves, and angry colloquies with the driver, (of course to the intense 
disgHstof all the other passengers in a hurry,) scramble out again with- 
oat paying, and with a knowing air, as much as to say, " you New 
Y^ork chaps can't cheat us — we're sharp enough for you I" At the 
concert or the theatre, those extraordinary woolen tidies and chair 
aprons, which must make a lady's head feel, in this hot weather, as if it 
were wrapped up in a flannel petticoat, generally take the place of the 
light and graceful head-di"ess appropriate to the season. Glass brooches 
and bracelets, with ear-rings to match, and which, if real, would co.st 
the income of the President, glitter amid the many-colored ribbons and 
showy cotton laces with which the wives and daughters of the sove- 
reigns from the country adorn their dashing figures. Voices are louder 
and laughs more frequent than usual. The steady-going New Yorker, 
looking up from his reverie or pausing in his grand rush about town, 
wonders into what strange place he has been spirited. But he looks 
up and eees the City Hall clock pointing ominously to half past two — 
and, suddenly remembering tliat he has a note to pay, he rushes off like 
mad, and speedily -forgets his " stunning" friends from the country. 

But, at all events, this is the season when everyl)ody enjoys himself; 
and New- York never within our remembrance, (although we are not 
the oldest inhabitant, yet we are distantly related to .the family,) has 
been so lively, so brilliant, and so gay, as at present. 

Here w^e are at Taylor's .new and gorgeous ice-cream palace — shall 
we enter ? Many people imagine that these splendid establishments are 
nothing less than female grog-shops and assignation houses. It is true 
that wines and liquors of all kinds are sold at these places, and that no 
persons are excluded from them, provided they conduct themselves 
quietly and with decorum. We do not see how the proprietors could 
exact more than this, nor why the same censure docs not apply to 
Stewart's and Beck's, to the pictnre galleries, and, in fact, the churches 
— for, so long as a woman conducts herself properly, she has a perfect 
right to enter whatever public place she pleases. We have very fre- 
quently seen our hshloimhh femmes de flaisir issuing from their fine car- 
riages, side by side with the liveried equipages from the West End, and 
mingling with the fashionable throng that ebbs and flows daily at the 
fancy shops. We ourselves have seen, more than once, the mistress of 
one of the proprietors of a fashionable dry goods establishment trading 
and chatting with her paramour across the counter, while his own wife 
stood at the counter directly opposite, gnawing her pale lips and clenci*- 
iug her hands in jealous agony. Such things are common enough every 
where. Probably the ice-cream saloons witness their full share of these 



22 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORE. 

transactions ; but it is out of the way for the proprietors to interfere ; 
and as to the general tone and appearance of respectability in these 
establishments, there is certainly nothing to complain of. 

As to ladies drinking, the general opinion is greatly exaggerated. 
Ladies occasionally take a glass of wine, a sherry cobbler, there, as 
they would do at home. But the instincts of women are all against 
intoxication, and we do not believe that such a thing as a drunken 
woman ever was seen at Taylor's or Thompson's. The only women 
who drink to excess are of the lowest and most depraved class of public 
characters — and they are so well marked by their personal appearance, 
dress, and manners, that they would never think of such a thing as 
entering one of these places. 

We know well that female dissipation and thoughtlessness are com- 
mon enough, in all ranks of society — and that the mamed women and 
young girls of America, from their almost total lack of occupation, of 
wholesome mental excitement, and the absolute freedom from restric- 
tions of their daily life, are powerfully incited to indulge in caprices and 
transgressions, which, at first innocent or merely mischievous, gradually 
lead to every consequence. Among the rich, the passion of women, 
pampered by high living and greatly neglected by their husbands and 
natural protectors, prepetually lead them to risk every thing to procure 
the homage of men. With the classes below, the universal temptation 
is the love of finery and the vain emulation inherent in womam's nature. 
Going still lower down, there are many who are driven to sell themselves 
even for bread — though the great majority of working girls resort to 
the infamous traffic of their persons merely for the enjoyment of a little 
social pleasure, denied them by their position, and for the sake of pro- 
curing finer dresses than they can purchase with their honest earnings. 
We have for years past investigated, thought and written much on 
this subject, and endeavored to view it in a strictly practical light. The 
conclusions to which we have arrived are, that women generally have 
no inclination to indulge their passions except with the man they love — 
but that, in too many cases, their reluctance is overcome by the stronger 
passions of vanity and love of pleasure. , The open and universal infi- 
delity of men teaches women to suspect that the sanctity attached to 
female chastity is a humbug, imposed upon them as a bug-bear, and 
that what men do every day with impunity, they may do without any 
terrible harm coming of it. Therefore, many young women, unprotected 
by the influence of a genuine love, which is ever a safeguard, yield up 
their virtue in a moment of discontent and desperation, and to purchase 
the gratification of that personal vanity and that intense love of pleasure 
which are the bases of so many female characters. 

This is a subject of so much delicacy and difficulty, that no real pro- 
gress has ever been made in it. Education and refinement appear rather 
to develop than retard the dangerous faculties of w^man — and even 
religion too often becomes merely a cloak, in which the joyous, elastic, 
exuberant, pleasure-loving creature, woman, more securely carries oa 
her merry masquerade. If the woman's rights conventions would turn 
their serious attention to this question, they might do a great deal of 
good, and redeem themselves from ridicule aud contempt which thus far 
their movements have created. 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 23 

The gigantic establishment where we are, is bat an exhalation from 
the hollowuess, hypocrisy, and insincerity, of the times. We live on the 
sidewalk? ; wc dine, dress, talk, and make society, in public ; wc marry 
for money and live for appearance ; our shops have all their goods in 
the street window ; women's forms are made of cotton, and the ideas 
that should enrich their brains, are developed in flaunting finery upon 
their bonnets. Even our splendid hotels and public houses are veneered 
with marble and stuffed in with old brick-bats — their magnificence is 
Only skin-deep. The parlors are palatial, while the bed-rooms would 
disgrace a country tavern. Our steamboat builders spend a hundred 
thousand dollars in useless flummery and gaudy upholstery, and save 
two dollars a month by employing an ignoramus or a drunkard for 
engineer, who blows the whole concern to the devil, on the first fair 
opportunity. 

Our newspapers cut each other's throats, and spend thousand.s upon 
thousands, in printing the largest sheets, and getting the earliest intelli- 
gence by telegraph, of events which would be deemed utterly insignifi- 
cant transpiring under their noses — and even our churches exhaust the 
purses of their congregations in building spacious edifices and furniehing 
them extravagantly, while hundreds of miserable, ignorant, God-and- 
man-forsakon wretches swelter in vice and filth, and starve and rot, 
around their very walls. Ostenstation and heartlossness are the vices 
of the day — and their worst feature is, that while they make so many 
wretched, they do not confer cither dignity or happiness upon even their 
owRers. A little taste, a little aspiration for refinement, a little heart, 
and a little c^nnine human nature, would be a million times better than 
this universal humau crystal palace into which the world is arranging 
itself. 



CHAPTER V- 

PICTURE OF A LIVE NEW YORK EDITOR. 

Of cofrse, yon mast wish to know all about the press of New- York. 
The press ! Mighty power I Miraculotis engine ! Irresistible impulse, 
that keeps the world's pulse throbbing, — electric thrill, that clarifies the 
moral atmosphere, and keeps this age of common-place from putrefac- 
tion and decay ! What shall we say of thee ? Perplexed between our 
veneration for the press in the abstract, and our knowledge of the actual, 
we fear on the one hand to do it more than honor, and on the other less 
than justice. What the tripod of the Pythoness, the omens and oracles 
of the seers and soothsayers, the inspirations of the prophets, and the 
direct revelations from heaven, were to the easlier ages — what the two 
tables of stone, given to Moses on Mount Horeb, were to the patri- 
archal epoch of the race — the press ought to be to the present generation; 
what chivalry and knighthood were to the dark ages, the knights of the 
press should be to this : the defender of the assailed, the protector ef 
the weak, the vindicator of the innocent — the terror of the oppressor, 
the scourge of the false, and the standard of all courtesy and honorable 
dealing. No institution or power on earth, sacred or secular, ever held 
so high a trust, or ministered from so lofty an altar, as the free press of 
the nineteenth century. And yet, sometimes, when looking partially or 
hastily at the subject, and seeing of what materials some of the elements 
of this powerful institution is composed, one is almost tempted to de- 
nounce it as the giant imposition of the age, the false priest and the dis- 
honest monitor, that should be chased in disgrace from beyond the 
temple. 

But let us stop moralizing and take an example. The argummtum ad 
hnminem is the only effective appeal, now-a-days. Let us, therefore, 
illustrate the character of at least a portion— and no inconsiderable por- 
tion, either, of the daily press of New York — by a living example or 
two. And, as they say in the comedies at Burton's, here comes one 
who will admirably answer our purpose. He is the responsible editor of 
a wealthy daily paper. Let us take a view of the man as he comes 
towards us. He is tall, full six feet in height, walks with a sort of 
stiff, hobbling gait, with his cane somewhat raised, as if he wi'shc(»I to 
be ready for an attack, if, perchance one should be made upon him; 
though, if rumor speaks the truth, when these assailants did find it con- 
vonieut to apply a slight foot friction to his seat of honor, he did not 
show that lion-like courage that might be expected from his size and 
apparent strength ; but rather the disposition that might be supposed 
to characterize the ass in the lion's skin. In justice, however, to him, 
vre must say that he never lets the consideration of personal chas- 



r TO THE REA1)P:R.— It is due to Mr. Foster, to 
that the personal part of the article entitled " Pic- 
>f a Live New York Editor," on page 24, is not 
his pen, being the only sketch in the book which 
ot written entirely by Mr. F. — The Publishers. 



FIFTEEiN MIKUTES ABX3UND NEW YORK. 25 

tiseraent, influence him enough to cause him to refrain from saying 
whatever he thinks fit (no matter how acurriious tliat may be), of those 
who may have incurred his enmity, llis hair is grey and long, and 
he sports also grey whiskers, goatee and imperial, which, together with 
a slight obliquity of vision, and general cxi)res8ion of countenance, not 
the most amiable in the world, gives him in the tout ensemble rather an 
Ishmaelitish appearance. 

Whatever may be thought of the man, he is well known, and his 
influence is great, through his paper, in this country, and even in Europe 
it is road with great interest, as it is supposed to be a sort of exponent 
of t!ie popular feeling of the i)Cople lierc, which the wisest of their 
statesmen, and even crowned heads, often dread, and look for with fear 
and trembling. 

The enterprise and tact of the man in acquiring such a position must 
be admired, though we cannot extol the means which he made use of 
fco attain his ends. Starting with but little capital, at a time when the 
great six-penny sheets, with plenty of money and a great flourish of 
trumpets, were supposed to monopolize all the talent and intelligence 
of the country, he had to strike out a new path, and he did it with 
consummate knowledge of, at least, the worst part of human nature. 
He made his paper piquant and witty, got up good and humorous 
police reports, put in a little scandal, a crim con case now and then, 
some double-cntendres, and it is said also did not hesitate to modestly 
hint in to-day's pajjer, and promise further developments in the next, of 
some innocent peccadilloas of certain long considered very pious and 
conscientious church members, which, singularly enough, did not appear 
according to promise. 

After a while, as the paper prospered, these singularities in a measure 
disappeared, and it assumed its present position of one of the most influ- 
entiar papers on this continent, though every now and then the old tricks 
will stick out, and some singular and mysterious advertisement appear, 
to wit : " that if a certain young lady, who rode up last evening in a 3d 
Avenue omnibus, dressed in black, with a grceu veil, and who, in pass- 
ing up her sixpence, unconsciously squeezed the right finger of a young 
gentleman with a swallow-tailed coat with brass buttons, will address 
through the Post Office, Amicus, she will hear of something greatly to 
her advantage;" and also now and then an advertisement for Ixiard for 
a very quiet and interesting young lady in a family, (that of a widow 
preferred), where no other boarders are taken ; board paid in advance 
instead of reference. Barring these little i)eculiarities, every thing is 
now conducted in a highly conservative style, and would do credit to a 
Wall street journal of the fogy order; but it is only fair to state that 
while it has earned for itself an unenviable iwtoriety by admitting to 
its columns such viorceoitx as those of which we have given specimens, 
it has also acliieveil a world-wide celebrity for the enterprise and energy 
it has long displayed in furnishing its readers with early information on 
all matters of interest from the most remote quarters of the globe. 

Tlie daily press of New York is one of the most remarkable features 
of the times. The '' penny press," commencing at the bottom, has 
reached the very topmost round of journalism, as understood in this 
country : while the old-fashioned " respectable Bixpenniea" are getting 



X iX' X AliXJXT SSJ.J.X 



farther and farther oat of sight and mind. In regard to everything 
appertaining to enterprize and news, the two-cent papers of New York, 
of the present day, are ahead of anything else in the world. But we 
are forced to confess that, when \re compare them with the leading jour- 
nals of Europe in point of talent, dignity and style, they are greatly 
wanting. Indeed, the publishers and owners of these papers seem to 
think that an enormous amount of flimsy paper, closely covered with 
small type, and sold for an incredibly low price, is all that is necessary 
to constitute a great newspaper : while the intellectual part of the 
business is treated with very little consideration, and suffered to get 
along as best it can. This cannot always be the case. The time 
must soon come when th-e very competition we now witness, in the mere 
mechanical departments of newspaper publishing, will have exhausted 
that field of excellence, and journals, in the rivalry of stretching their 
columns and adding to their expenses, will be in danger of falling victims 
to the very competition they have themselves established. Then, other 
elements of popularity will be sought after, and journals will begin to 
be estimated as well on account of their eloqnence, their candor, their 
knowledge, and the disinterested expression of enlightened views, as f©r 
the length of their columns and the number of their pages. 

At present, save as organs for the advocacy and dissemination of cer- 
tain peculiar views, or as mere vehicles of publicity, the daily jouruale 
cannot be said to exert any very wide or definite influence upon public 
opinion, or to hold any well-defined and fixed position. Ail k)iow or 
think they know, the absolute venality of even the choicest and most 
reserved of the daily editorial columns — and the morning newsp;iper 
reader, after he has run his eye over the telegraph reports and the ad- 
vertisements, lays it aside and never refers to it again. If the real 
truth must be told, there is more original writing, and of a higher 
quality, in the regular Sunday morning journals, than in all tlie rest of 
the week. Now and then, something startling is brought forward ia 
the editorial columns of a daily journal — but, for the most part, their 
leaded lucubrations are so notoi'iously stale, flat and unprofitable, that 
the reader gives up all expectation of beiug mtez*ested, and lays them 
aside in silence. 



CHAPTER VI. 

A GENERAL DASH AT THE FERRIES. 

IIuRRrV ! There goes the bell I Give us the chaugc — ruQ — jump — dash 
— here we are! Thanks to a quick eye, a pair of tolerably long, if uot 
handsome legs, and considerable practice iu the sharp work of getting 
about and around Xew York. A greenhorn, or a Philadcli)hian, or 
anybody from those provincial places, would have now been paddling 
about in that involuntary salt water swimming-bath shut iu by the slip. 
Imagine, for a moment, our venerable and respected cotemporary (that's 
the respectable word for neighbor, we believe,) of the City Item, iu 
such a scrape. He would never say another word against Nevr York — 
never 1 

But the fact is, we needn't have been in so terrible a hurry. We 
could very profitably have spent five minutes of our sacred fifteen, in 
the passengers' room. Suppose we step ashore, and wait for the next 
boat? 

The first person who enters the room, after ourselves, is a lady. She 
is dressed in one of those chocolate-colored, nnrevealing, linen-and-cottoa 
out-door night-gowns, which the Genius of Ugliness has just invented, 
and is chuckling over as one of his most successful achievements. A 
shirred barege bonnet of a similar hue, with a thick green veil — that 
national svmbol of propriety and virtue in this country — carefully con- 
ceals her features. Still, as she walks, the voluptuous undulations of 
the form, so seductively painted by Balzac, in his Madame Marnefi"e, 
disclose the young woman, full of life and animal spirits. Pretty, too, 
she doubtless is. But why that " envious veil V as somebody calls it. 
There is no sun, and tlie day is stewingly warm — regular fricasee 
weather. She must be nearly suffocated under that thick face-counter- 
pane. 

" Madame, we really must beg to suggest that: " 

" What would you suggest to that lady, sir ?" 

" That — chem ! — it is a remarkably line day, sir. What ! Ilarry, 
my boy — is it you ? Why, where the mischief are you bound ?" 

" Sh !» 

" Oh, I see— all right 

******* 

Here comes a thin, intellectual-looking woman, of thirty-five. Noth- 
ing old-maidish about her — rather on the strong-minded womanish order. 
She is thin, but not meagre ; looks as if she worked hard, and still 
knew how to enjoy life in iier own inde}>endent way. That is a music- 
teacher. She has for years supported her father, mother and younger 
brothers, by teaching the piano. She also composes a waltz or a polka 



28 . FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

now and then, and writes tolerable articles for a soi-disant American 
musical journal. She gets up at six o'clock in the morning, and spends 
ten hours every day in giving lessons at the houses of her — patients, 
we had almost said. What an unheard-of amount of stupidity she must 
encounter in the course of the year 1 What scores of " interesting 
young ladies" who don't know the difference between A flat and a dia- 
pason, and whose fingers are incapable of learning the distance from 
tonic to sub-dominant— to whom 3-4 time possesses no marked difference 
from 6-8, and who never could see the use of those tiresome flats and 
sharps I And yet our musical old maid has managed to preserve her 
temper and her complexion. What a wife she would have made 1 

Mose and Lize, with a party of very particular friends, have just 
burst through the toll-house, very much like, as we may imagine, the 
Goths entered Rome. They — our Bowery friends, and not the Goths — , 
are laughing and shouting vs;'ith fun. Mose carries his coat on one arm, 
and a huge basket in the other hand, at which he now and then glances 
in a most expre,ssive manner. The thing is clear — a pic-nic is coming 
off" — and there'll be "high" doings before that party gets home. 

Here is a nervous old gentleman, who is always afraid of being too 
late, and looks into the room timidly, as much as to ask, humbly, 
whether anybody has any objection to his going over in the next boat. 
lie advertised yesterday morning in the Herald for a wife — and, fearful 
that somebody would be sure to recognise him in New York, made the 
rendezvous in Greenwood Cemetery. If he knew that the fair one whom 
he expects to meet, and who has written to him in such tender terms, 
is a pocket-book dropper, a "burner," a " watch-stuffer" — in short, a 
genteel swindler, who has laid himself out for a big haul, our nervous 
and timid friend would take the first stage up town, and remain in bed 
and on a diet of herb-tea for a fortnight. The probabilities, even, are 
that he would marry his landlady. 

Closely following the nervous man, is a lady whom you at once re- 
cognise for an Englishwoman. She is not in the least handsome, but 
there is a solidity and reality about her, a sincerity of purpose and 
character, an absence of that shop-window-iveness of now-a-days, — a 
real, substantial, business-like air, which announces unmistakeably the 
English wife and mother. We know her well. She is the wife of an 
English officer, sent over to this country to make some observations 
upon steam marine. They stop, of course, at the Clarendon ; but the 
five children and the governess could not be permitted to stay in a 
hotel : it was altogether too much opposed to English ideas. They are 
established in Brooklyn, and the mother goes every day, and, mind you, 
walks, although it is so easy to ride, walks from the Clarendon to the 
South Fen-y, and from the foot of Atlantic street, a mile and a half, to 
her children's temporary home. Her American friends at the hotel — 
thin-chested, crinolined and dyspeptic, done up in orange-colored organ- 
dies and Virginia-fence lace collars that don't go below the hem of the 
dress, are astonished at her temerity in taking those daily walks, and 
" wouldn't do it for the world." In fact, they consider it quite vulgar ; 
and can't at all see the necessity of walking when there are so many 
omnibuses 1 Our Englishwoman, however, is sound and healthy-colored 
• — enjoys the exercise — has strong and hearty children, and, in her 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK- 29 

green-etriped dc laine dress and brown boonot, is one of the most con- 
tented creatures in existence. 

But the boat is in — we must be off. 

Stop ! Let us wait for that graceful and msjcstic woman, who walks 
down as deliberately as if she were Cleopatra, and the " Passaic" were 
her plcasnre-bark, so magnificently upholstered by Shakespeare. She 
is veiled, but in that bewitching, fascinating, odalisquish sort of way so 
seldom achieved by an anglo-Saxon, on either side of the water. Who 
is she ? 

Lend us your ear : That is the Lady in Black. Her history and 
adventures were well known, some years ago, and she was for the usual 
period the object of one of those unaccountable moral spasms known 
as a " New York excitement." She wa?, among other trifles, a-ccused 
of murdering her husband, and stood her trial uubleuchingly. She was 
acquitted, and soon after sunk from public attention. She now lives a 
retired, if not a virtuous life, aud may be frequently seen going home 
or coming into the city, spreading her lures for any old victim with a 
sugary tooth, who may happen to enceunter her on the ferry boat. If 
that heart could write its experience, its thoughts, its sensations, what 
a record it would be ! What a veil would be lifted from the mystery 
of the life of woman ! 

And now, we should like to know why it is that people will not and 
cannot wait quietly until the passengers who have just come over, have 
time to get off, and out of the way ? Everybody knows that the boat 
won't go until the passengers are aboard — that it is safely chained up 
to the wharf, and that the beil will ring in season to give them plenty 
of time. Still, as soou as the boat appears in sight, the waiting crowd 
collects on the verge of the wharf, waiting its arrival with intense 
anxiety; aud the instant it touches, a general rush and scramble takes 
place to get on board — of course, embarrassing, delaying, corn-smash- 
ing, and generally upsetting the comers ashore. The consequence is, 
that what might be so easily, naturally and conveniently achieved, is 
transformed into a regular battle between two opposing hosts, armed 
with umbrellas, baskets, bundles, and babies. The loss on both sides 
is of course tremendous ; and the whole business of crossing a ferry is 
thus voluntarily rendered one of the most atrocious " little miseries" to 
which metropolitan human nature is liable. 

At last we are on board again. A large fat woman, who jumped at 
the last moment, basket and all, has fallen short and gone down. How- 
ever, she considerately threw the basket ou board, and its beets, sau- 
sages, and doughnuts are scattered all about. No doubt they will be 
collected, with the rest of the "remains," by the deck hands, and sent 
home ; so that Mr. Theophilus Squiggins, of Myrtle avenue, although 
he may have a cold wife, will have a warm dinner. 

True, we are not exactly a lady — although we were very near one 
last evening at the opera — but still we shall take the liberty of going 
into the " ladies' cabin," where, stuck up in that Fourieristic arm-chair 
extending all round the cabin, are quite as many trowsers as petticoats. 
The "gentlemen's cabin" is only occupied by negroes, blackguards and 
smokers — a practical definition of the word gentleman, for wliich we 
beg leave to say we are in no way responsible. 



30 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

Well— over we go,- gliding swiftly as a dream, and gulping down 
great mouthfals of fresh sea air, enough to supply the city deficit of 
oxygen for the remainder of the day. The lovely panorama of the river 
and bay passes before us — we squeeze ourselves in among the posts and 
pier-heads of the shore— the bell rings— the usual desperate fight to 
" effect a landing " takes place— and our fifteen minutes, as well as our- 
selves, are " over." 



CHAPTER VII. 

THE CITY HOSPITAL IN THB MONTH OP AUGUST. 

IsK*r it refreshing to crawl oat of yoar suffocating sick chamber, 
where yoa have been for foar days maintaining a feeble 6ght against 
the cholera, the heat, a doctor, and five hundred other leeches fn the 
shape of musquitoes — to ride quietly out and catch this Friday nioni- 
ing's breeze, the first breath drawn by the present week — and to sit by 
this cool window, looking out over the green lawn and through the 
whispering trees, upon the perspiring and toiling street ? Truly, the 
sick and wounded are provided with a hotel which, in point of location, 
far surpasses any of the " magiiificent " cstaVilishments, with their bal- 
conies over the sidewalk and their windows filled with dust, about which 
they make such a noise. 

Bat we didn't come here to be comfortable — that is not an editor's 
perquisite ; our business is to look after the miseries and euilerings of 
others. Let us go into the wards. How clean and fresh they are. 
We fear the " wards" (for the bed-rooms are no bigger) of our fashion- 
able hotels aforesaid, could not show such clean, white sheets — do not 
smell so pure and wholesome ; and yet these are occupied by the sick, 
and wonnded, and dying — by all that is generally considered tainting to 
the atmosphere and disgusting to the sense. Nothing but the most 
untiring care, the most admirable discipline, the most conscientious dis- 
charge of duty, could produce such a state of things. The honesty of 
at least this "public institution " is patent. It requires no certificate 
or endorsement. It does its own white-washing. 

But, notwithstanding, you cannot look down this long row of sufi^er- 
ers without a shudder, a pang of unsatisfied philanthropy, a sickening 
sensation, that there must be ever such an enormous amount of human 
Buffering, with no power to absolutely relieve it. The actual presence 
of material evil calms and subdues the sorrowing of the spirit. Before 
these broken limbs, scoroliing with the inten.se fever of slow re-knitting 
— these convulsed brea.sts, gasping and gurgling for breath — these wan 
cheeks and bright eyes watching in the air the certain approach of the 
grim spectre whom they know is coming to wrap them in his arms — the 
soul is ashamed to remember her own temporary sufferings, and smiles 
in sad commiseration upon all she sees and hears. 

The first five patients in the row npoii which we have f>een gazing, 
seem strangely alike ; they must be all suffering from the same disease. 
They are Irishmen. Their faces are livid, and a slight line of white 
froth is visible about their mouthe. They have evidently been foaming 
at the mouth, but have been gradually Boothed. They breathe vfith 



32 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

heavy, irregular snoring-, and you think, every now and theoi, that the 
next breath will never come up some poor fellow's throat, it v.' aits so 
long. At last it gurgles slowly up, and issues with a snort ; gasi^ing, 
ihe man turns partly over, and makes a convulsive movement with his 
hands and legs. A young doctor stands quietly looking on, watching 
carefully every movement, every breath, 

" Poor fellow I " says he, almost with a sigh, (he is young and not 
yet hardened) "he is nearly gone. If you had witnessed the scene 
that passed this morning between him and his wife and child, you would 
not wish to return here." 

" Did he know them ? " 

"No ; he has been unconscious ever since he was brought in, yester- 
day afternoon." 

" What is the matter with him — with all these ? ** 

" What 1 do you not know ? They were all sun-struck, yesterday, 
and will die before night. You m»u3t have seen it in the papers ; these 
are the victims." 

" And is there no cure ? " 

" No — no more than being struck with lightning. If the blow is 
severe, the victim dies ; his very vitality is withered and shrivelled up 
within him." 

" But what becomes of the families of these poor creatures ?" 

" AVhy, says the doctor, with the scepticism of humanity whish early 
takes possession of the physician's nature, " they go to the alms-house, 
I suppose. At all events, wherever they go, they are better off than 
they were in their own homes. And yet, the family feeling, as it is 
called, appears to be very strong among these people ; I can't under- 
stand it." 

" But who are these, next in this row of suflfering ?" 

" This one was brought in yesterday. He is a foreigner, and we have 
not been able to discover any traces of his name or lodgings. He wa« 
picked up in the street, writhing upon the sidewalk, and the policeman 
supposed of course that he was sun-struck, like the rest. But this was 
not so. He had been poisoned. It is clearly a case of suicide. He 
had taken arsenic ; and, alth®ugh we used the stomach-pump, the poi- 
son had taken too strong a hold. His cries for water, which we did 
not dare to give, as he would have swollen up and died immediately, 
like a rat in a cellar, were perfectly heart-rending. His last agony is now 
over. The stomack and entrails are puti'ifying ; you can see the green 
and mottled seals of internal mortification already on his cheeks." 

The next we came to was a young boy of ten or twelve. He was 
very pale and calm, but his thin blue lips, and a set frown on his brow, 
showed that he must suffer intensely. Childhood sometimes gives evi- 
dence of the truest courage and heroism. Our little sufferer had been 
run over by an omnibus in the Fourth avenue, and his thigh broken. 
" He was brought here before he was sufficiently recovered to tell his 
name and residence. His father and mother were sent for, as soon as 
lie regained his senses, and they have decided to let him remain where 
he is, as it would be extremely dangerous to remove him. We have, as 
you see, not even removed him to a private ward, though his familj 
would gladly pay for any extra attention^ or accommodatioas." 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 33 

" Would ho be bottcr tended there 

"No: the onJy advantage is that he would be by himself. I can 
conscientiously say that, in respect to treatment, attendance, and nurs- 
ing, the poor fare as well as the rich." 

" And do the rich ever come here ? " 

" Oh, yes — very often ; and wisely, too. A yonng man, or a stran- 
ger, who meets with an accident, can be treated much more comfort- 
ably and successfully here, than in any hotel or boarding house, tvcu 
the best. This is now generally known, and considerably practif-i;d 
up^n." 

The little sufferer here opened his eyes, and said, faintly, " Doctor, 
do you think I could turn over, just a little ? — it hurts so bad I " 

"My child, you must suffer patiently. Every movement you ma.'.c 
renders you liable to be crooked, when you get well. You wouldn''; 
like that, would yon, my little man?" 

" Mama wouldn't like it, sir," said he, with a suppressed groan, as he 
closed his eyes, and again resigned himself to motionless suflering. 

The next bed contained nothing that could be recognised as beiona- 
ing to humanity. It was a mangled mass of crushed and bleetiiuo- 
flesh and bones, bound together with sticks, and plasters, and banda;^'-'.' . 
The face is no longer a face. One of the eyes is torn out, and hangs 
by a shred of flesh. It has been partially replaced, but does not at <iJl 
fit the ghastly orifice. An awful blow has crushed in the back oi' th^i 
head, and the thick blood is still oozing from beneath the l)an(ia_;e. 
The lower jaw is broken short off, and hangs down upon the ciir-si, 
exposing the mouth and tongue, horribly distorted. The chest flni 
trunk are literally smashed to a jelly. A. sort of choking, bul)bl!iij^ 
sound comes up through this frightful mass, showing that life still strug- 
gles beneath the horrid heap. But it will soon go out. " Poor fello.v:" 
Bays the doctor, " it would have been a mercy to put a knife in his he an . 
The dressing of his wounds only added a keen and useless torture. 
The Indians understand humanity better than we, after all." 

This man had not been more than an hoar in the hospital. He had 
fallen from the top of a building in Nassau street, near Clinton Hall, 
and in his descent struck his head against an iron awning post and 
railing, breaking them down, and crashing head foremost upon the 
ground. He was carried away on a htter, leaving a track of blood 
all along the street, which was followed by the curious crowd, as a pack 
of hounds would have followed the trail of a stricken deer. 

But we have lingered here quite long enough. The sickening and 
insidious odors of the pkce, which were at first concealed from the sense 
by the exquisite cleanliness and purification of the estabhshment, have 
at length penetrated to our inmost sense, and we begin to feel a fainting 
Beusation. We meant to have gone through some of the wards devoted 
to the practical cliuique, and seen the knife glancing among the arteries 
and vital tissues, and heard the saw grating its sharp, jagged teeth 
across the live bones. But it is too much for to-day. The heat is 
raging like a desert thirst through every vein and along every nerve 
and membrane. Dor "quarter of an hour," too, is exhausted — and so 
are we. 

a 



CHAPTER VIIL ! 

THE BROADWAY ZEM-ZEM. 

Reader, have you ever noticed the " watering trougli" at which 
the omnibus horses always stop, on their way up and down town, to 
"take a drink." To us, this half-way equestrian coftee-house is a point 
of no Uttle interest — a resting-place between up and down town — a. 
sort of metropolitan zem-zem in the desert of brick and mortar, at which 
the omnibus horse, that patient and greatly-abused camel of civili- 
zation, stops periodically to " wood and water." Every day, for months 
past, we have stopped, morning and evening, at this spot, and have 
gradually become absorbed in a study of its peculiarities. 

The horses know this spot much better than we. They have scarcely 
dragged the heavy stage out of the rail-track in Sixth avenue, and 
turned up Amity street towards Broadway, before they seem to sniff 
the fresh smell of the sparkling Croton, bubbling perennially up from 
the bottom of an especially green and quisby-looking trough, presided 
over by a boy with a bucket, a blue cotton shirt, cloth cap, and grey 
satinet trowsers, particularly satinetted at the seams and seat. He has 
a snub nose, a defiant eye, and chews tobacco like a Missourian. He 
appears to be about sixteen, but has already acquired the easy, swagger 
and sublimely-unconscious impudence of the full-grown b'hoy. He 
doesn't handle his bucket as if he were exactly ashamed of it ; but he 
looks up at the driver, and splashes the water into the noses of the 
horses, with an air as much as to say, " I won't even take the trouble 
to be ashamed ; I'll work my way into a position of independent loafer- 
ism soon enough 1" 

One thing we must say for the poor horses at the watering-trough — 
they never get enough I If, like little Oliver, they had been endowed 
with speech and a basin, they would undoubtedly ask for " more," — we 
are sure of it. As it is, they snuffle, and whinnow, and bite the rim of 
the bucket, and rub their honest noses coaxingly against " Jerry's" 
shoulder, and dance the hornpipe of expectation, after the first brief 
sip. But it is no use — Jerry is incorrigible ; each gets his due quarter 
of a bucketful, and, like Joe the crossing-sweeper, they must irrevoca- 
bly " move on" 

The way the- different sorts of passengers take this regular stoppage 
is curious. In the morning, the old fogy, on his way to the down-town 
counting house, don't see the necessity of keeping people waiting — peo- 
ple might water their horses before they started. The young lady ia 
black barege and cotton stuffing, hurrying to Taylor's to keep an ap- 
pointment for which she is already too late — ladies make it a point 
always to be too late — fidgets on her seat, jumps up and immediately 



FIFTEEN mNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 35 

sits down again — c^ets red with a sort of stage fright, to which young 
ladies invariably fall victims upon making the slightest exertion. Thea 
she fumbles in her fortf-monnaie, and after a long and anxious search, 
she fishes up, from the inner, rose-lined, most secret compartment, that 
horror of all omnibus-drivers and passengers in a hurry — a five dollar 
bill I Good heavens 1 Is this, then, the veritable personage of whom 
we have heard so much — the Lady with the Five Dollar Bill ( Give 
us our umbrella — somebody's umbrella — any body's umbrella — and let 
ns go. The elements themselves are not so unkind as — this sort of ^ 
thing, as Shakspeare observes. 

Now, our young lady, having steadied herself by all the knees on 
either side of the stage, is thrown by a sudden jolt — did an omnibus 
horse ever stand still till you were fairly out ? — into the lap of old fogy, 
who gives a tremendous grunt — half rage and half satisfaction — while 
the lady picks up herself and her parasol, and, grasping convulsively 
whatever change the driver has chosen to reach down to her, makes a 
dart out of the stage. The fringe of her mantilla, of course, catches on 
a gentleman's coat-button, aud while trying nervously to disengage it, 
both gentleman and lady blushing at the earnestness of their mutual 
efforts, her foot gets smashed by the door, w»hich the driver had just 

pulled to. She screams, the gentleman witSh the button d s its 

eyes, and cuts the fringe — old fogy anathematises the whole omnibus 
system, and the rest of the passengers indulge in that quiet, intensely 
sarcastic omnibus smile, known and understood only by thorough cits. 
At last everything is free, and the young lady is landed in the middle 
of a magnificent mud-puddle. No matter — we are fairly rid of her. 
No 1 she has forgotten her pocket-handkerchief 1 

Here comes the up-town stage — and there is a regular accumulation 
of drays, carts and carriages, all waiting their turn at the watering- 
trough — the horses vainly endeavoring to free themselves from the flies 
with incredible stampings and tail-whiskings, and the drivers sitting 
quietly and looking contentedly on, as if they relished the joke amaz- 
ingly, and didn't care how long it lasted. 

Up and down the sidewalk are running a couple of lovely little girls I 
Their bright, rosy faces, and their neatly-combed, extra-auburn hair, 
(surmounting vulgar countenances it would be red,) upon which the 
sunlight seems to love to linger, making a sort of halo round them, such 
as the old painters put round the heads of their Christs and Saints, win 
your heart at a glance. We have watched for them, morning and 
night, all summer long ; and when we miss them from their accustomed 
seat on the one-step of the little portico, we feel quite sad and forgot- 
ten. They have got also to know us a little, from our now and then 
throwing them a handful of bon-bons, which the eldest always catches 
in her apron — holding it out in her pretty hands with such a modest, 
beautiful attitude, and with such a sweet smile of thanks on her face I 
And then, the inimitable grace with which the motherly little creature 
pours them into her sister's lap, and can hardly be prevailed on to even 
touch a single one for herself ! Is anything on earth so beautiful as 
the protecting love of a little girl for her younger sister ? It makes 
you smile and weep at the same moment — that dear earnest, uncoQ- 



36 FIFTEEN MINUTES ABOUND NEW YORK. 

Bcioas burlesque on motherhood ! It is the germ of the full-grown 
woman and mother. 

Now they have recognized us — here they come, skipping and dancing 
like a couple of young faiiies. The eldest has not yet made up her 
mind whether we have brought our usual quota of bon-bons, and looks 
timidly down at her apron, and then up at us, as much as to say, " have 
you forgotten us ?" And then, when the little package, in its gold and 
Avhite paper, appears, she comes as near to the curb-stone as she dares, 
while "little siss" holds her back by the frock, and receives our gift 
with such a gesture of infantile gladness and such a look of unconscious 
gratitude, as fills our heart with happiness. God indeed blessed and 
blesses little children, everywhere and always. 

Reader — if you find this episode prosy, dull, "spooney" — of these 
dear little children standing bareheaded and fearless amid the crowded 
street, on the very shore of -the turbid and roaring torrent of travel, 
read it not — pass it over — sneer at us. But we tell you that we bate 
you — that you are a brute and a heathen, and we despise you from the 
bottom of our heart. Those children are to us the angels whom one 
must see, somewhere and in some shape, every day, or his life becomes 
cold, petrified, barren, worthless and unholy. At hearthstone or on 
pillow — at home or passing in the street — something of angelic purity, 
and peace, and beauty, must illumine our bleared vision and hardening 
heart, every day as wo pass down the stream of life, or we are indeed 
doomed to hard-hearteduess and wickedness. Our angels are the little 
girls CI the watering- trough, who, although they know us not and will 
never know us, watch patiently for our coming, and leave their beauU- 
fnl i.nagos in our heart, to purify, strengthen, and inspire us. And so — • 
oav>'ar;l to join the tramping army, marching and fighting daily for 
bread —aud good-bye to our watering-trough. 



CHAPTER IX. I 

THE CRYSTAL PALACE, AND THE PALACE OF MIRROR.?. 

This is a qncer world, with its queer contrasts : but, perhaps, with- 
ont its contrasts it would bo still queerer. Monotony and stagnation 
breed moral as well as material maggots ; and there is no telling to 
what desperation of ennui everyl)ody might be driven, if everything 
went on smoothly and harmoniously. We old hack New Yorkers get 
60 accustomed to these piquant contrasts of city life, that we think 
nothing of them, and should only be astonL«!hed if they did not occur. 
But for the amusement and instruction of those fifty or a hundred 
thousand strangers who now form so cojispicuous a feature of our popu- 
lation, it may be well enough to notice a few of these contrasts, as they 
occur to our recollection. 

Of course you have been to the palace ? Which palace ? Why, 
the Crystal Palace, to be sure, with its magnificent dome, and beautiful 
marble women, and sparkling fountains, and splendid picture gallery : 
what other palace is there in yonr wonderful city ? 

Well, there certainly is another palace — the " Palace of Mirrors, it 
is called by its pro])rietress. If you have never received a gilt-edged, 
perfumed, and highly embossed note, setting forth its merits and attrac- 
tions, it is because your name did not appear in tho " list of arrivals," 
in the Express, "fourth edishing." That list is carefully conned over 
by the inhabitants of the Palace of Mirrors, and other subordinate 
efitablishments, as by the drummers of the desperate dry goods and 
other concerns down town, who lie in wait for customers, and bore 
them to death with preliminary persuasions, before they arc fairly 
ensconsed in their hotels. 

But what is the Palace of Mirrors ? and where is it situated ? Is it 
advertised in the Tribune ? No — not exactly ; but if the Tribune 
could have its own way, we should soon have Palaces of Mirrors all 
over the world. There was a small attempt to establish something of 
the kind at Brook Farms, some years ago, by the Tribune editors, edi- 
tresses, philosophers, and reformers. But the men were all so mean, 
and the women so ugly, that the whole concern fell through, leaving 
poor Greeley, who may be termed the snmpter mule of modern reform, 
to foot the bill and take the discomfited members of the affair on his 
back. Come with us, and we will show you what the " civilizers" have 
been able to effect in the way of antithesis to the Crystal Palace. 

The street is narrow and dirty, and not, it must be confessed, over 
respectable. However, the rum-holes and disreputable places in the 
vtighborhood are not bo numerous or so large aa those in the vicinity 



38 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

of the Crystal Palace. They are better frequented, and not nearly so 
well policed. The lamps are scarce and dim, and the odor in the air is 
anything but either Jockey Club or Vervain. Never mind — let us go 
on. If you get a thump on the head, or a stab in the side, don't cry 
out and make a noise — it's of no use ; the policemen have all got their 
" soger clothes " on, and have gone up to the Crystal Palace, leaving 
the Palace of Mirrors to take care of itself. Here we are, before a 
tall, dark-looking house, with a grated door. Let us ring. 

They have a peculiar etiquette at the Palace of Mirrors. When a 
visitor rings, the portress (a very magnificently dressed young woman, 
with bare arms and very low-necked gold and black brocade dress) turns 
the slats of the iron grating, and looks down upon the new-comer with 
a searching glance, that infalUbly takes in everything in the appearance, 
manner, dress, and place of residence of the applicant for admission. 
You think your spruce new claret paletot, with that immense cravat, 
and that JuUienistic waistcoat, pass you off as a New Yorker ! Not a 
bit of it. Our keen-eyed portress has "spotted" you in a moment. 
She knows you came from the prairies, where people are obliged to walk 
with their legs wide apart, on account of the high grass. Your paletot 
and cravat, waistcoat and loosely-hanging trowsers, came ready made 
from Fulton street, and you board at the St. Nicholas or Prescott. 
You are, in short, a country green-horn, come to New York to see the 
elephant, and she thinks she will let you into the cage. You are a safe 
man. 

So, the door is unlocked, and unchained, (the elephant is a dangerous 
animal !) and we are ushered into a brightly-lighted hall, gaily decorated 
and chandeliered, with half-a-dozen fantastic-shaped sofas divanning the 
walls. These sofas have several occupants — ^gentlemen and ladies — the 
latter being all dressed in the most extravagant and startling style. 
The display of bare arms and shoulders, of splendid dresses, and mag- 
nificent head-gear, quite overpowers you. However, nobody takes the 
least notice of you, except our portress, who asks — 
; " Who do you wish to see, sir ?" 
' " Why, the elephant. Doesn't he live here ?" 

" He don't do nothing shorter ! Walk into the parlor, and I'll trot 
him out." 

The parlor ; well, this is a parlor ! What magnificent carpets, soft 
a^ a baby's pillow 1 What brilliant rosewood furniture I what a splen- 
did grand piano ! what delicious, cosy, velvet ottomans ! And then 
the walls — one continuous mirror, reflecting you, and the gorgeously 
undressed women who lounge on the luxurious sofas, and the furniture, 
the chandeliers, and all, even to the bust of Napoleon in the corner. 
The effect is magical, bewildering. Yon think you have been transport- 
ed into dream-land. 

And then the ladies — a little melo-dramatic, perhaps, but still mag- 
nificently got up. Such crimson cheeks and lips ! such costly robes ! 
Their manners are as luxuriant as their attire ; and in a moment yoa 
find yourself perfectly at home .' * * * * * ' 

We have not time, this evening, to go through the other apartments 
of the Palace of Mirrors. If, Hke Asmodeus, we had the gift of un- 
roofing houses, we might discover subjects at which we ourselves should 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 39 

be astonished. But wc have seen enough to give us a general idea of 
this other side of the picture of our Crystal Palace, with its respectable 
and dazzling outside and inside. Wc will go. 

" No you don't ! Aren't you going to call for some wine ?" 
" Certainly, madam, if such is the custom : Champagne, if you 
please." 

The wine is very bad ; but then it is so eheap ! only tliree dollars a 
bottle I You couldn't expect a Grst-rate article for that price ! And 
now — the witching hour of midnight has arrived — the fog from the bay 
comes up thick and impervious, like a walking grey blanket — tlie comet 
has put out its tail and gone to bed — President Sedgwick and his edito- 
rial revellers at the Crystal Palace have departed on the last down-town 
car, and the whole city is sinking into silence. The echoes of the thou- 
sands of hurried footsteps have faded from the sidewalk — and as we 
emerge into Broadway, all is silent, save the rattle of a distant cab, 
taking home'a belated member of the Union Club, and the continuous, 
irrepressible murmur of the vast city — that human ocean, which ever 
ebbs and flows, remorseless and irresistible as the eternal destiny of 
which it is the symbol. 



CHAPTER X. 

A PLUNGE IN THE SWIMMING-BATH. 

Plop ! goes the fat man, whom we just saw waddling across the 
Battery, with his face red as the full moon, and his whole man appearing 
about to melt. He stripped in marvellous quick time, and glided into 
the water like a large lump of warm fat. How gratefully to him, ia 
every pore of his body, is the cool wave, embracing him in its soft, 
inexorable arms, no thin man can conceive. A lean man splashes and 
splutters about in the water like four sticks tied together. The only 
wonder is, why he ever came into it. There is no use in his trying to 
swim — that's clear ; he would inevitably break his toes or scrape his 
shins, or even his knees, against the bottom. He belongs to the crane 
species — he can only keep his head above water by wading. 

But your fat, sleek, oily, contented man, like our friend who has taken 
the plunge, enjoys his bath with an active and positive enjoyment. The 
bath is his antithesis ; and for the few moments it lasts, he is as much 
at home as if he were a very large and very clumsy fish, and, in fact, 
he very much reminds you strongly of a porpoise, as he goes wallowing 
and rolling and blowing about. 

There's Dandy C , who has been told by his physician that the 

swimming-bath will permameutly relieve the gout and general debility 
brought on by his incessant and indiscreet dissipations. At any rate, 
the doctor is conscientious. His skill can do nothing for decayed mar- 
rows, diseased livers, disorganized kidneys, and a general atrophy pro- 
duced by a premature exhaustion of all the forces of life. 

Dandy unfolds himself as carefully as if he was a contribution to the 
Crystal Palace, and had been marked " very fragile — this side up, handle 
carefully." Having neatly folded his clothes, and deposited them in a 
safe and dry place, he cautiously dips one great toe into the water and 
dr#iws back with a shudder and a "ugh ! how cold it is !" Our fat friend, 
who is cruising lazily along shore, sees the state of things, and makes a 
sudden dive, which throws a barrel or two of water into the face and 
over the attenuated person of our roue. He gives a scream, falls back, 
and faints, like a fine lady. Everybody runs to the spot — nobody has 
any salts or French vinegar, and nobody is exactly in a state to go to 
the apothecary's. The fat gentleman, who has now come up, and ia 
floating on the surface of the water, like a rich tit-bit in a bowl of turtle 
soup, suggests that water is a sovereign remedy for fainting away* ; and, 
it being at least the treatment nearest at hand, they all consent, and 
Dandy is thrust into the water. The fat man's therapeutics succeed 
admirably. The patient, after a few kicks and dying gasps, opens his 
eyes, and, taking a dismayed look of " surrounding circumstancea," 
screams, lustily. 



FIFTEEN MINUTES ABOUND NEW YORK. 41 

" Oil, dear ! Oh, I sliall bo dro\vnccl ! I've got the cramp I Help me 
out 1 Murder ! Mur— bbl— ublc— phliilji)lo ! Ah !" and the poor follow, 
ovei-powered with porluips the fir.st positive " sensation" he ever had in 
his life, actually dis;i}ipears beneath the water, The fat gentleman, who 
is Ijing on his l)ack, dying .vith laughter, reaches down and grabs Dandy 
by the hair, as he supposes, and up comes — a wig I 

"What a fool, to go in swimming with a wig on !" exclaims the in- 
dignant and cheated fat gentleman ; and, just as he is preparing to 
make another dive. Dandy catches him by the leg, with desperate gripe, 
and drags him down, down ! 

Things begin to look serious. The fat gentleman, roused to the high- 
est state of muscular activity, splashes, flounder.^, and S})latters so lusti- 
ly, that it is no easy matter to approach. Dandy hangrf on, like death, 
and with that fatuity which l)elongs exclusively to drowning men and 
men iu love, makes every possil)le effort for his own destruction. At 
length, and when affairs arc evidently api«roaching a crisw, a stalwart 
Cttliforniau — the bony and muscular embodiment of leanness, with a 
head like St. Paul, and a body^ like an omnibus horrse — wades up to the 
defendants in the case, and, with a jerk, throws the water-logged Dandy 
on dry land, and lifts the gentleman once more into the air. Dandy, 
however, was pretty far gone. They had to take him away in a cab ; 
and wc have heard nothing of him since. 

Here is a young aud dainty fellow, with a just budding moastachc, 
and a skin as soft and white as a woman's. He is almost a« modest, 
too, and blushes at the sight of his own legs, like a girl. Wc doubt 
whether he will iinally venture to extract himself from his chemise. 
Yes — he is looking around fearfully ; and seizing a moment when he 
thinks no one is watching, off" it comes, and he, like a poor singer, 

' Stands shivering on the brink. 
And fears to make the plunge." 

Poor, dear little fellow ! He really quite reminds one of Edymon, 
or some such moonshine. And now he has attracted the notice of a 
party of gamins, who have been making all sorts of mischief for half 
an hour, splashing themselves and everybody else, ducking one another 
and " holding 'em under" till they grew purple in the face, and could 
no longes breathe, and cutting up every imaginable " shine" which it 
enters into the heart of boys-terous youth to conceive, or its hands to 
execute. We fear our Miss Nancy will fare hard with them. 

He has not yet ventured into the water, but stands with his last gar- 
ment in his hand, very much iu the attitude of Canova's Venus. One 
of our gamins comes up softly behind him, aud, ke-wash I in he goes, 
his shirt flying iu one direction and his legs and arms sprawling towards 
all points of the compass. His gasping cries are stopped by shouts of 
laughter — and one of the tormentors cries — 

" Hold him under, Jim ! He's a green 'un !" 

Wiiat may be the sensations of this poor devil the next minuto and 
a half, we won't undertake to say ; but we should Imagine they were 
something similar to those of poor stuttering Charles Lamb, who wa.s 
ducked three times by the Brighton bath-men, before he could manage 
to sputter out, " Pui to b-be d-dippcd — cmly once !" 



42 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

Here comes an old fogy. We shouldn't wonder if he were president 
of a mining company, or a director of the Crystal Palace, at the very- 
least. He enters with a grave and stately step, looking round with 
awful dignity upon the place, and all that it contains. The atmosphere 
grows grim with respect, and the very water takes a brown and mud- 
dled hue, as if something of great importance were about to happen — 
perhaps a water-spout ! The very shad in the bay keep well over to- 
wards the Jersey shore, and the vessels at anchor wheel slowly around 
with the tide, and point theu* noses seaward, as if ready for a sudden 
start. Endymion scrambles out of the water, wringing his shirt, in briny 
despair, and his white, satin skin looking Uke that of a young sea-gull. 
Our fat friend, who has by this time gotton liimself completely rehabil- 
lated, walks off, giving a look askance at the old fogy ; and even tke 
gamins themselves cower, shivering, in a crowd, and begin trying to 
insert themselves into their crumpled and unstarched garments. The 
Californian is the only one not overawed by the august presence. 
Wading up in front of the old fogy, and looking at him with a comical 
expression, he says — 

" I say, old feller — give us a chor o' terbacker, will yer ?" 

"Tobacco, sirl" exclaims Old Fogy, Esq., aghast. "Tobacco! 
Do you mean to insult me ? " 

" Well, I shouldn't mind, old hoss ! Jest you come into this here 
small tin pan full of water, what they calls a swimmin'-bath in these 
small-potatoe diggins, and ain't no objections to takin' a turn with you. 
Whooray ! Who's afeard ? " 

Old Eogy looks, reflects a moment, slips on his boots and trowsers, 
and muttering something about the "encroachments of democracy," 
disappears. 

JSIow for the ladies' department. 



CHAPTER XL 

FOURTH OF JULY FROM THE ROOF. 

The cnir.DRKX hiid been listening every hour in the day for a week, to 
the incipient discharges of fire-crackers, which preluded the Fourth of 
July. To all the hints, insinuations, and charming inuendoes of the little 
people, aided by sundry exprcs^sive winks from mama, that a certain sum. 
should be set apart for the purchase of fire-works, we had resolutely 
turned a deaf ear. Of course it was freely admitted, in these desultory 
and skirmisliing conversations, that fire-crackers, as a general thing, were 
a nuisance — papa triumphautly exclaimed that he would like to see the 
little girl — or even the little boy — who could deny that ! Still, it was 
contended that the great universal principle upon which society is coh- 
ducted, of "doing as^j'our neighbors do," demanded a certain sacrifice 
of individual comfort and convenience. Finally, as the best " compro- 
mise" that could be made on the occasion, it was arranged that two 
bunches of crackers should be let ofif on the morning of the " eventful 
day," in the back garden, in presence of the assembled community ; and 
that in the evening we should all go en the roof and see the fire-works 
all over the city. 

The Fourth, fortunately, was a little muggy, and consequently the tin 
roof was not quite melted ofif during the day. A cool and grateful 
beeze, even, s^irang "all out of the west," and shed its delicious influences 
over roof and brow, side-walk and suspirating cithood. Immediately 
after dinner, while the sun, breaking out of its bondage of thin clouds, 
was pouring down beams hot enough to have broiled the cutlets and 
baked the strawberry pudding, to adjourn to the roof, for the purpose 
of being all ready "for the fire-works ! This being overruled, we were 
amused for the remainder of the afternoon by the incessant click-clackery 
of crackers in boxes, in bi^rrels, and in every way, going off and yet 
never going off, in every direction. From the back window of the little 
drawing-room, there is a fine view of an entire block of buildings, occu- 
pied by about a hundred and fifty German families, who seemed on this 
occasion to be particularly patriotic. Every window had it.-< pi.stol, or 
its noise-creator of some kind — all of which were kept busy, as the bat- 
tery of a besieging army in a storm. One lusty fellow — the champion 
aiid hero of this sporadic zoU-verein — had got posession of a double-bar- 
rcllod gun and a horn of powder, and he loaded and fired with a " fatal 
facility" which would have made a hero at Monmouth or Boridini. Hie 
next-door neighbor flayed atrociously, throughout the day, on a clarionet ; 
and in the same block there were an accordeon accompanied by a squeak- 
ing sixteen-year-old treble ; a third Jlute! and a ba.«;s trombone. Never 
before had we so full an appreciation of the national devotion of the 
Germans to music ! 



44 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

At last the day, weary and dispjusted with all the senseless noi^e, and 
unmeaning marching and coimterraarching — sick at the stomach with 
the enormous quantities of nasty ice-cream and wilted oysters she had 
had been compelled to swallow — put on her grey night-gown, and giv- 
ing a last fiery look of indignant contempt at the world, went to bed, 

" Like one who draws the draperies of his conch 
Around him, and lies down to dismal dreams." 

Then, upon every point and half point of the compass, settled in- 
tense and dusky silence. The engineers of rocket, pistol, cracker and 
Roman candle, for a moment retired into their back parlors, to refresh 
themselves with a cup of tea, before commencing the grand operations 
of the evening. 

We were all gathered around, in a state of intense expectancy — 
when — 

Phissss-s-s-ss-se ! 

" What's that ?" exclaimed the small people, in a state of intense ex- 
citement. 

" That is a rocket." 

In twenty seconds from that announcement, the whole household 
were on the roof. Papa, who came last, got a flimpse of a pair of 
silk stockings, which had evidently been reserved for this " august 
occasion." Pillows, stools, and cushions, now found their way np 
through the sky-light, as if they had l)een put in communication with 
Dr. Gray and the spiritual rappers. The tin roof was not much hotter 
than a gridiron — and, all things considered, we were comfortably 
bestowed — especially as all sense of minor annoyance was lost in the 
intense exertion necessary to keep the children from leaping over the 
parapet or tumbling down chimney. And now, from every neighboring 
sky-light, uprose mysterious traps, giving place to heads of every sort, 
followed by the persons of our neighbors, all rigged out in their holiday 
attire, and evidently prepared to hold a grand levee on the house-tops. 
On the opposite roof, now appeared a neighbor who keeps a large 
establishment " down-town," and with whom we have struck up a sort 
of " Rock away acquaintance," as JohnKeese did with his vis-a-vis, 
who ogled him from her rocking-chair over the way. After having 
greeted us with a grand military salute, he seemed to be very busy in 
extracting something from the sky-light through which he had appeared. 
After a long time and an infinite deal of trouble, the trap was safely 
delivered of the wife and baby of our friend — and subsequently of the 
fat nurse, who duly screamed and tumbled over with modesty — after 
which she scrambled on all fours to the chimney, which she clasped 
affectionately in her arms, like a landsman hugging the mainmast in a 
blow off Cape Hatteras. 

Meanwhile, from all points of the compass began to rise faint, green- 
ish balls of light, like a regiment of will-o'-the-wisps who had lost their 
way, and were bobbing in and out of every chimnef-top, in quest of 
somebody who could see them right. Here and there, an impatient 
rocket, chafing in its traces, went off prematurely, pufiing and blowing 
its sulphurous breath into the cool face of evening, and trying vainly 
to make an "appearance" against the gorgeous sunset sky — which, 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 45 

Bproading all over the west a curtain of fire, embroidered with p^olden 
and rosy threads, mocked to eooni the ridiculous jrniipowder imitations 
of mortals. In fact, it was clear that Apollo iuul l)oen celebrating the 
Fourth on his own hook ; and as he cast a disdainful ixirting look upon 
the earth, he seemed to say — "I have had ray fun — go on with your 
fizzling 1" • 

It was a cnrious spectacle — the rockets wjiizzing up into the sky, far 
and near, so that you could detect the various localities whence they 
issued. 

" There goes Washington Square !" cried the oldest and most learned 
of the babies, as a pearl-edged ribbon of lire unfolded itself above the 
roofs of the houses, and suddenly blew out into the magnificent blue 
and crimson artificial flower. 

"There's the Hippodrome ! Oh, I know that's the Ilippodromo !" 
screamed the little one of all — the red-cheeked pet, with a mouth the 
size of a rose-bud, and enthusiasm enough in her white bosom to upset 
a world or throw a drawing-room into confusion. 

But it wasn't the Hippodrome — wliich had as much as it could attend 
to in making " fetes of VerseillJs," and other exhibitions. These beauti- 
ful rockets, which went up into the air like lillics born of fire, and 
embellished the dulHeaden night with forms and hues of beauty, were 
but the avanls couriers of the coming storm — magnificent, gorgeous, 
splendid beyond description or conception — which now burst in glory 
upon the night. For half an hour, we are sure the babies were crazy ; 
and even we ourselves, as we lay on our back, propped up by three pil- 
lows, and watching like an astrologer the culmination of a star that 
seemed to have grown suddenly brilliant with jcalou.sy of the corpora- 
ation glimmerings in Madison Square — even we were forced to confess 
that nothing quite so beautiful had ever been seen. 

Our position on the roof fortunately preserved us from the politician's 
necessity of taking sides, either by word or brickbat, with the grand 
battle between a boy and an omnibus-driver, on the one side, and three 
hundred members of an Irish society, on the other. Even at the slight 
elevation we had attained, we respired fwith the exception of an infer- 
nal smell of roast mutton flora the next chimney,) the free air of indo- 
pendence, and let the whole world crack, whistle and splutter by, far 
below us, without so much as exciting our attention. Gradually the 
babies and the air grew sleepy. Our neighbor on the o[)posite roof 
sent down his wife and baby through the trap-door, and gave a last 
puff at hLs cigar, as he also disajipeared, with an indescribable air of 
resignation, incident to virtuous and well-trained married men. The 
sky, at length angry with all the imbecile mockeries that had been 
thrown in its fac^', began frowning and flashing lightning from its indig- 
nant eyes ; and at length, heaven's fireworks leaped madly from the 
clouds, and played such fiery antics across the heaveu as made even the 
most extravagant thoughts of man, tame and insignificant. Then it 
was that we stuffed the babies down the sky-light, followed by mamma, 
pillowp, and other soft and cosy things — and, taking a last look at the 
rain-cloud that came passing down upon us from the north, ended with 
a plunge our quarter of an hour upon the roof. 



CHAPTER XIL 

A QUARTEK OP AN HOUR UNDER AN AWNING. 

Six o'ci-ock and down-town — and a thick grey blanket spreading out 
all over the north and west. Broadway is a dense and turbid stream 
of people, flowing upwards. Men, women, children and little niggers, 
rush wildly up the sidewalk, hurrying to escape the coming shower — 
while here and there prudent old gentlemen, (they are not nearly in the 
same proportion as the wise virgins spoken of in Scripture, ) pick their 
way leisurely along, with their umbrellas ready for use, and a quiet 
chuckle of self-complacency on their fapes. 

The rain has not yet come down — but it will come, and speedily. The 
question now is, "can we get home before it comes?" It is worth 
trying, at any rate — so, here goes for a dash into the struggling current. 
"What enormous strides the women take, with their beautiful silks and 
fresh summer muslins wabbled up ingloriously about theu* ancles I 
They go like a quarter horse down the back stretch — passing every- 
thing on the road, and determined to pull up ahead of the party. Its 
no use — we cant keep up such a killing pace ; and, besides, here comes 
the rain, in drops as big as eggs. We drop behind and take our stand 
under the awning at Chambers street, waiting for an omnibus. 

Under an awning in Broadway — waiting for a stage in a rapid rain- 
dash — at half-past six o'clock ! There's a situation ! and one which, 
if it could be fairly presented on the stage (we don't mean the omnibus) 
would draw the whole town after it. Here they come, gathering from 
all directions, crowding in beyond the line of rain, reaching over each 
other's shoulders, and making frantic signs to every omnibus that passes 
— while the drivers, shaking the big rain-drops from their flapped hats 
with a most triumphant negative, splash on, leaving our awning con- 
gregation momentarily growing larger and more desperate. 

" Oh, good gracious me ! suddenly exclaims a lady in the centre of 
this extempore mass-meeting, who wears a brilliant lilac bonnet, a greeu 
and orange silk dress, and flesh-colored silk stockings feasy to be seen) 
and lavender-colored boots. " Oh, my goody gracious ! there's a hob 
in it and its all a-runnft)g down my back — and, oh my bonnet 1 it'll be 
clean spoilt !" 

" Hush, my dear — don't make a row ; you shall have another." 

" Mhmh ! I know I shall have another — but who knows whether I 
can get another such one as this ?" 

" I trust in Providence, my love, that you cannot. Tou certainly 
can't do worse." 

Snicker, giggle, he, he, he ! from the crowd, sotto voce. 

" Brute 1" 

"Darling!" 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 47 

Here's a stage at last, the driver of which has palled up. Wliat a 
rush ! There's a man getting out. Help him out — pull him out — 
quii'k ! hurry ! Twenty umbrellas make a desperate dash at tho 
vacated place — one would almost think it was a Tacant situation in th© 
Custom House. No use I Oflf they go — four on the top, two on each 
side of the driver — two on the steps, and fifteen inside — twenty-two in 
all ; as we do live by bread, 'tis true ! And the discomfited nineteen, 
drenched and desperate, sneak back to the awning — which, by the 
way, is no longer much of a protection, except that it changes the 
slower without into a series of sporadic water-spouts, which pour down 
in steady streams on our devoted heads. The lilac bonnet is wilted 
long ago, and it now looks as if it had been a sugar bonnet, and all the 
extras had melted and run away. The owner would evidently like to 
follow its example ; but the " brute" who paid for the bonnet looks at 
the fallen aud smashed-up wreck with evident admiration — a sentiment 
he never entertained for it in the days of its pristine grandeur. 

Dinner was to be on the table precisely at six — and Jemima strictly 
enjoined it upon us to be punctual, as she .and the girls were going out. 
Of course they can't go out such a night as this — but then, there are 
Jemimas, and Jemimas and punctuality arc blessings. 

Don't it come down beautiful ! and just at this hour, too, of all others 
in the twenty-four ! By the time one gets home thoroughly wet through, 
the storm without will have exhausted its fury, which will be transferred 
within. Who wonders at Caudle's untimely end ? The stages rattle 
by in an incessant procession — every one apparently more crowded than 
the last : the drivers no longer deign even to look towards our melan- 
choly and stranded group, cowering like the last of a shipwreck, trying 
in vain to shelter themselves under the lea of the wave-washed deck. 

We have an idea — let us take a seat in a down-town stage, and so 
stick to it till it returns. Lilac bonnet has just cast loose, with her 
convoy, and both are scudding under bare poles for the railcar, where 
they hope for better luck. Deluded mortals 1 The cars are all full 
and running over with down-towners, who had jumped on board to 
secure seats going up. A carriage of course is not to be had — or, if it 
were, you would have to pay a week's salary for half-an-hour's use of it. 
No — there is but one alternative to waiting — and that is, wading. 
Ljlac bonnet won't do either ! She's evidently making up her mind to 
faint : that unsuccessful trip to the railroad, and the return, have 
proved too much for her. There — she's off ! Carry her into Rushton's, 
give her some ether or chloroform, establish her in an elegant attitude 
against that Windsor Soap box, and then run out and give " all the 
particulars" to that shark of a reporter who has been dodging iu and 
out of the crowd during the whole affair. 

" Police ! police ! My pocket's picked 1 Where's the police ?" bawls 
a stout, red-faced man, running from one to another, and exclaiming 
piteou.sly, " Oh, do give it to me — for God's sake give it back to me 1" 
At last he accosts a flashy, stylish-looking gentleman, with a brilliant 
cravat and oily whiskers and moustache. The " gent" frowns sublimely 
at him — " Damme, sir, do you think I've got your dirty pocket-book V* 
" How did you know it was a pocket-book ? He did't say what it 
was," remarks the astute reporter, who i^ rather up to snuff. 



48 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

" That's bim — bold him fast — I knows hira 1" exclaims a policeman, 
at this momeut comins^ up — (he must have rained dowu !) " How are 
ye, my covey ? Come, tip — tain't no use — I knows yer of pld, I does." 

Our magnificent gentleman wilts instantly — as rapidly as the lilac 
bonnet. The policeman produces the pocket-book, from Whisker's out- 
side pocket — he all the while protesting, like the lover in Washington, 
that he hasn't the least idea how it got there. He begs the oilicer to 
st€p aside, and he thinks he can convince him, &c. , &c. The proprietor 
of the restored pocket-book looks pleased — almost grateful. After fum- 
bling for a long time in his trowsers pocket, he drags out a very smooth, 
quarter, and hopes the policeman will accept it, alihongh, as a general 
rule, he is opposed to paying pu1>lic servants for the performance of their 
duty. Policeman stares— and puts tongue in his cheek. Old gentleman 
wonders what that means — but he pockets the slighted quarter with 
evident satisfaction. Reporter takes a note, and, picking up an umbrella 
which the owner had leaned, dripping, against the fire-plug, scampers 
off. Owner dumb with consternation, gesticulates violently in language 
which a member of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum would immediately 
interpret into — " Here, you — rascal, bring back my umbrella !" Owner 
has a new hat, and the umbrella is an old one : "A new hat on the 
head is better than an old umbrella across the street." 

Here's a young physician, without a carriage — -just getting into prac- 
tice — -has been running all day — only half an hour for dinner — last 
chance gone. He must evidently either go hungry or neglect a patient. 
An errand boy leans yonder against the wall. He don't care — not he 
— if it rains till midnight. Here a small actor and liis wife come creeping 
like drowned rats out of a stage, each with a bundle of the night's finery 
under the arm. They look very little Hke the comedy countess and 
strutting man of fashion they are to become in a few moments. 

But at last there seems to be a lull — the mud-drops plop up less 
fiercely from the Russ — and, as if everything were about to come right 
at once, here is the very omnibus for which we have been waiting. Our 
meeting under the awning has dispersed like a conclave at Tammany 
Hall, after the lights are turned off. The lilac bonnet has disappeared 
with its good-natured husband ; Don Magnificio Whiskers has paired 
oif with the policeman ; the owner of the new hat and the lost umbrella 
is staring vacantly in the direction where the reporter made his rapid 
exit ; and the red-faced financier and ourself start for the omnibus We 
are not malicious — but all's fair in onmibus riding ; and a sly trip of our 
resj-iectable antagonist, quite by accident, lays him sprawling in the mud ; 
•we mount the steps in triumph, and hurra for home, a wet welcome, 
and k cold dinner ! 



CHAPTER XIII. . 

y 
A STBEAK OP SENSE— ANOTHER PEEP AT WALL STREET. 

Okce more we find ourselves in Wall street, and attending up the 
Board of Brokers, the stock epeculators, the money merchants, and the 
financial operators generally of the street. But to let you a little into 
our confidence, reader, we have been very much at a loss whether to 
cast these individuals in our dissertation on; the mercantile world, or to 
lay them over until we come to the gambling houses and the lottery poli- 
cy shops — for the truth is that of all the gambling ever invented by the 
mind of man, the speculations in stocks, by which fortunes are realized 
and lost everyday in Wall street, and whose stakes are millions, involv- 
ing the happiness or misery of whole classes, are the most absolute and 
unmitigated swindle — if gambling is swindling — and those engaged ia 
them are all deserving of the State Prison. The buying and selling of 
" fancy stocks," by which is meant those stocks, and those only which 
are acknowledged by both parties and on all hands to be in themselves 
intrinsically worthless — the whole business of marine, life and fire insur- 
snrance, from its inception to its ultimate results — the manufacturing 
of paper currency — the buying and selling of real estate as carried on 
by our speculators — all these transactions are in fact and in spirit, noth- 
ing but gambling. Let us take the case of a fancy stock. By the help 
of lobbying and dramming and champaguing the members of the State 
Legislature, a charter has been obtained for a railroad from somewhere 
to nowhere, and by certain hocus pocus operations, sham entries, and 
other conventional appearances, the charter secured, the stock ostensi- 
bly taken up and perhaps even a few miles of the road graded ; or if 
the operators wish to be particularly liberal, they may condescend to 
lay down a portion even of the rails. It is very soon ascertained that 
this road, so far from ever paying a dividend on its capital, or remune- 
rating the stockholders, has no more chance of paying its expenses thaa 
ft candle lighted at both ends of living till morning. So, after a strug- 
gle or two for the sake of decency, the stock sinks into the unfathom- 
able abyss of ill-considered and fraudulent speculations, and thereafter is 
known as a "fancy." Nothing then remains but to get it out into the 
street and let the bulls and bears get hold of it — the one making fori- 
ons efforts to toss it up, and the others hugging it as closely to pull it 
down ; and as the one or the other triumphs in dexterity in shuffling the 
cards, or by the heavier "pile" he is able to go upon his hand, the 
other is bluffed off and thc' stock for that day sinks or rises as the case 
may be. The transaction is looked upon as extremely respectable, and 
all the newspapers gravely report that " the fancies were somewhat de- 
pressed to-day, in coasequence of the unusual delay of the arrival of the 

4 



50 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

steamer ; or " there was a little more activity at the board to-day, aud 
fancies generally increased from an eighth to a quarter, and a still far- 
ther improvement was apparent at the second board." In extreme cases 
the disinterested editor adds that the "Reading" or "Harlem" or 
" Communipaw," or whatever stock he happens to have been paid for 
puffing, appeared to be the general favorite with operators. The next 
day perhaps, without the slightest shade of change having come over 
the condition of the road, or the relations that existed concerning it and 
all the rest of the world, the stock goes up or tumbles down, the lucky 
operator pocketing his gains with a chuckle, the unlucky one pocketing 
his losses with a grin, and the feediddled community looking on with 
wonder and awe at these astonishing evidences of the immense commer- 
cial importance of New York. 

Insurance companies are founded upon an undisguised principle of 
gambling. It is no more nor less than betting on a cord ; while they 
have so multiplied and confused their calculations by the multiplicity of 
. their figuring, as to completely mystify the brains of their victims, and 
make the chances come out by a very large per centage inevitably iu 
their favor. There is no doubt that the operation of these companies 
has been to a certain extent beneficial ; but it is nevertheless gambling ; 
open, palpable gambling ; and the respective officers of these institu- 
tions with a palace in which to transact their business, and living in the 
most sumptuous and costly style, supporting extravagant families upon 
the proceeds and profits of their game, and the best and most unequivo- 
cal testimony that it is a game, and that the portion of the community 
who don't directly receive the security and advantage of the business 
must be plucked. As to the calculations necessary to demonstrate this 
fact mathematically, we have neither the time nor the patience, nor per- 
haps the requisite knowledge of details, to go into them ; but it may be 
laid down as a settled proposition that the rich capitalists who insure, 
and the rich merchants who are insured, act like a pair of scissors, be- 
tween which a good slice of product of poor miserable laboring mea 
and women who neither insure nor are insured even from starvation, are 
clipped away. 

As to life insurance, it is of a piece with the other — a vast and cun- 
ningly devised s(Aeme to excite the cupidity of the ignorant, and draw 
from the earnings of the credulous poor the means for a few idle men to 
live in fashion, extravagance and luxury. Once a year or so the news- 
papers contain an extraordinary story of the wonderful adt^antages of life 
insurance — how somebody has died and left Mrs. Somebody five thou- 
sand dollars, for the education of the little Somebodies — and a great 
deal of gammon of that sort ; but we who are behind the curtain of 
journalism, who see the puffs in manuscript, and know who bring them 
in and pay for their publication, smile pityingly at .these tales and lay 
them by in our memory with the accounts of wonderful cures by Smith's 
Universal Vegetable Pills, or the remedies for baldness invented by 
Brown, Jones or Thompson. The thousands of cases in which poor fel- 
lows have worked like dogs to scrape together the amount of the pre- 
mium from year to year, and at last by bad luck or. illness have failed 
and lost all they have paid, and thus been driven to dissipation or des- 
pair, are never recorded. If they were, life insurance would be soon at 



FIFTEEN MTNTJTES AROUND NEW YORK. 51 

a low ebb, and the fine fortunes made from conducting this bosincss, 
would remain in the needy pockets of the destitute poor, from which 
they are extracted by the most equivocal of false pretenses. 

But there w a scheme of insurance which will yet be adopted that 
will i>c viiid of these objections and confer tenfold service and benefit 
upou the community. This is a system of mutual guarantceism of every 
species of property, product or talent, skill or invention, interest, 
claim or right of whatever description, made by the whole community 
to each of its members. The premium to such a system of insurance 
would gradually and constantly recede from the enormous rates 
established by the present antagonistic, gambling institutions called 
insurance companies, until it reached the merest nominal per centage 
of the entire value of the thing insured But, retloce this premium as 
we might, still the system would be so vast and so universally confided 
in, all its affairs being conducted with a limpid transparency into which 
all might look, that the profits would be enormous. But to this there 
would be no obligation ; because the profits thus arising to the com- 
munity at large from the transaction between itself and each member 
of the community, would of course belong to the community, and go to 
the payment of the expenses of goverMment, and thus relieve individuals 
from just that amount of taxation. « 

For instance, if all the insurance in the city of New York were 
done by the city itself, at a fractional premium compared with the 
present rates, the profits would support our entire dty government, pay 
the whole expenses of police, gas, street and alms-house departments, keep 
all our paupers comfortable, cure all the public sick, and pay the interest 
on our Croton water debt, without the necessity of taxing directly the 
citizens one single cent ; whereas, in the present manner of distributing 
the profits of insurance, the wealthy property owners and the more 
prosperous classes only, receive the benefit of insurance — as the poor 
cannot afford to pay the premium ; while the profits arising from the 
whole system go to support in extravagant idleness and corrupting 
luxury a few men and families, by no means among the most valuable 
or most enlightened members of society. This is a subject which from 
the startling novelty of its suggestions will for a long time receive the 
go-by among those pompous and self-sufficient classes who by the force 
of impudence and money are enabled to push themselves up over the 
heads of men of real talent, philanthropy and philosophy ; but its time 
will surely come. The idea is so simple, so beautiful and so benevolent, 
and its consequences are so bencficieut, practical and inevitable, that 
every mind which once fairly takes it in must inevitably become a con- 
vert to it ; and thus little by little it will make way until the whole 
public mind has reached that state of dcvcloperaent and enlightenment, 
from which the project will burst into full bloom, and in due time bear 
its precious fruit. 

At all events, there can be no doubt that the present system, or rather 
no system, of insurance, especially the insurance of lives, is a mere hol- 
low, heartless and cruel mockery of assissance held out to the struggling 
poor — a hoiK! most likely to fail at the momeot that it should be most 
valuable aud reliable. 



CHAPTER XIV. 

A STROLL IN HOBOKEN-THB SYBIL'S SPRING* 

It was very warm — a sort of sultry, sticky day, which makes you feel 
as if you had washed yourself iw molasses and water, and had found that 
the chambermaid had forgotten to give you a towel. The very rust ou 
the hinges of the Park gates has melted and run down into the sockets, 
making them creak with a sort of ferruginous lubricity, as you feebly 
push them open. The hands on the City Hall clock droop, and look as 
if they would knock off work if they only had sufficient energy to get up 
a strike. The omnibus horses creep languidly along, and yet can't 
stand still when they are pulled up to take in or let oat passengers — • 
the flies are so persevering, so bitter, so hungry ! 

Let us go over to Hoboken, and get a meuthful of fresh air, a drink 
of cool water from the Sj'bil's spring, a good roll on the green grass of 
the Elysian Fields. Down we drop, through the hot, dusty, perspiring, 
choking streets — pass the rancid " family groceries," which infect all this 
part of the city, and are nuisances of the first water — and, after stum- 
bling our way through a basket store, " piled mountains high," we at 
length find ourselves fairly on board the ferry boat, and panting with 
the freshness of the sea breeze, which, even here in the slip, steals de- 
liciously up from the bay, tripping with white over the night-capped and 
lace-tilled waves. Ding-dong I Now we are off ! Hurry out to this 
further end of the boat, where you see everybody is crowding and rush- 
ing. Why ? Why ? Why, because you will be in Hoboken fully three 
seconds sooner thaa those unfortunate devils at the other end. Isu^fc 
that an object ? Certainly. Push, therefore, elbow, tramp, and 
scramble ! If you have corns, so, most likely, has your neighbor. At 
any rate, you can but try. No matter if your hat gets smashed, or one 
of the tails torn off your coat. Ycni gci ahead. That's the idea — that's 
the only thing worth living for. What's the use of going to Hoboken, 
unless you can get there sooner than anybody else ? Hoboken woaldn't 
be Hoboken, if somebody else should arrive before you. 

Now — jump ! — climb over the chain, and jump ashore. You are not 
more than ten feet from the wharf. You may not be able to make it 
— but then again, you may ; and it is at least worth the trial. Should 
you succeed, you will gain almost another whole" second ! and, if yoa 
fail, why, it is only a ducking — doubtless they will fish you out. Cer- 
tainly they don't allow people to get drowned. The Common Council, 
bad as it is, would never permit that ! 

Well I here we are at last, safe on the sands of a foreign shore* 
New Jersey extends her dry and arid bosom to receive us. What a 
long, disagreeable walk from the ferry, before you get anywhere. What 
an ugly expanse of gullies and mud, by lumber yards and vacant lots, 



FIFTEEN MrNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 53 

before we bep^in to enjoy the beauties of this lovely and charming Ho- 
bokcn ! One would almost think that these disagreeable objects were 
placed there on purpose to enhance tiie beauties to which they lead. 

At last we are in the shady walk — cool and sequestered, notwith- 
standing; that it is full of people. The venerable trees — the very same 
beneath wliosc branches passed Hamilton and Burr to their fatal ren- 
dezvous — the same that have listened to the whi.spering love-tales of so 
many generations of the young Dutch burghers and their frauleins — 
cast a deep and almost solemn shade along this walk. We have passed 
so quickly from the city and its hubbub, that the charm of this delicious 
contrast is absolutely magical. 

What a motley crowd ! Old and young, men, women and children, 
those ever-recurring elements of life and movement. Well-dressed and 
badly-dressed, and scarcely dressed at all — Germans, French, Italians, 
Americans, with here and there a mincing Londoner, with his cockney 
gait and trim whiskers. This walk in Iloboken is one of the most abso- 
lutely democratic places in the world — the boulevards of social equality, 
where every rank, state, and condition, existing in our country — except, 
of course, the tip-top cxclusives — meet, mingle, push and elbow their 
way along with sparse courtesy or civility. 

Now, we are upon the smooth gravelled walk — the beautiful, magni- 
ficent water terrace, whose rival does n®t exist in all the world. Here, 
for a mile and a half, the walk lies directly upon the river, winding in 
and out with its yielding ©utline, and around the base of precipitous 
rocky cliffs, crowned with lofty trees. From the Bay, and afar off 
through the Narrows, the fresh sea breeze comes rushing up from the 
Atlantic, strengthened and made more joyous, more elastic by its race 
of three thousand miles — as youth grows stronger by activity. Before 
us, fading into a greyish distance, lies the city, low and murky, like a 
huge monster — its domes and spires seeming but the scales and protu- 
berances upon his body. One fancies that he can still hear the faint mur- 
mur of his perpetual roar. No — 'tis but the voice of the pleasant waves, 
dashing themselves to pieces in silver spray, against the rocky shore. 
The retreating tide calls in whispers, its army of waves to follow to 
their home in the soa. 

Take care — don't tumble off these high and unbalustraded steps, — or 
will yon choose rather to go through the turn-stile at the foot of the 
bluff? It is very lean, madam— which yon are not — and we doubt if 
you can manage to find your way through. We thought so 1 Allow 
me to help you over the steps. They are placed here, we verily believe, 
as a practical illustration of life — up one side of the hill, and down the 
other — for there is no material, physical, or topographical reason, that 
we can discover, for their existence. 

Here is a family group, seated on fhe little wooden bench, placed 
under this jutting rock. The mother's attention is painfully divided 
equally between the two large boys, the toddling little girl of six, who 
laughs and claps her hand with glee at discovering that she can't throw 
a j)cbble into the water, like her brothers — and the baby, who spreads 
out his hands and legs to their utmost stretch, like the sails of a little 
boat which tries to catch as much of the breeze as it can, and who 
crows like a little chanticleer, in the very exuberance of hid baby exis- 



U FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

tence. Two half-nibbled cakes, neglected in the happiness of breathing- 
this pare, keen air — which, by the way, will give them a trei»en(lous 
appetite, by-and-by — are lying among the pebbles, and even the baby 
has forgotten to suck its fat little thumb. 

The Sybil's Cave, with its cool fountain bubbling and sparkling for- 
ever in the subterranean darkness, now tempts us to another pause. 
The little refreshment shop under the trees looks like an ice-cream plas- 
ter stuck against the rx3cks. Nobody wants " refreshments," my dear 
girl, while the pure cool water of the Sybil's fountain can be had for 
nothing. "What 1 Yes they do. The insane idea that to buy some- 
thing away from home — to eat or drink — is at work even here. A 
little man, with thin bandy legs, whose bouncing wife and children are 
a practical illustration of the one-sided effects of matrimony, has bought 
" something to take" for the whole family. Pop goes the weasel I 
What is it ? Sassaparilla — pooh ! 

Now let us go on round this sharp curve, (what a splendid spot for a 
railroad accident!) and then along the widened terrace path, until it 
loses itself in a green and spacious lawn, lovingly rising to meet the 
stooping branches of the trees. This is the entrance to the far-famed 
Elysian Fields. Along the banks of the winding gravel paths, children 
are playing, with their floating locks streaming in the wind — while prone 
on the green grass recline weary people, escaped from the week's cease- 
less toil, and subsiding joyfully into an hour of rest — to them the highest 
happiness. The centre of the lawn has been marked out into a magnifi- 
cent ball ground, and two parties of rollicking, joyous young men are 
engaged in that excellent and health-unparting sport, base ball. They 
are without hats, coats, or waistcoats, and then- well-knit forms, and 
elastic movements, as they bound after the bounding ball, furnish grati- 
fying evidence that there are still classes of young men among us cal- 
culated to preserve the race from degenerating. 

Yonder in the corner by that thick clump of trees, is the merry go- 
round, with its cargo of half-laughing, half-shrieking juvenile humanity, 
swinging up and down like a vessel I'iding at anchor. Happy, thought- 
less voyagers ! Although your baby bark moves up and down, and 
round and round, yet you feel the exhilirating motion, and you think 
you advance. After all, perhaps it would be a blessed thing if your 
bright and happy lives could stop here. But time hurries you on irresisti- 
bly, to what destiny may have in store for you. Never again will you be 
SO happy as now ; and often, in the hard and bitter journey of life, you 
will look fondly back to these infantile hours, wondering if the evening 
of life shall be as peaceful as its morning. 

But the sun has swung down behind the Weehawken Heights, and 
the trees cast their long shadows over lawn and river, pointing with 
waving fingers our homeward road. The heart is calmer, the head 
clearer, the blood cooler, for this delicious respite. We thank thee, oh 
green Hoboken, for thy shade, and fresh foliage, and tender grass, and 
the murmuring of the glad and breezy waters — and especially for having 
faraished us with a subject for this chapter. 



CHAPTER XV. 

THE ELDRIDQB STREET JAIL. 

Being in the vicinity of Walker and Eldridge streets, the other day, 
our attention was attracted by a small wooden rotunda surmounting an 
ordinary looking two story dwelling-house. Cro.ssing over from the 
immense and cleanly-kept private market, or abattoir, which occupies 
the corner, we read on the wall of this house, " Admittance to the Jail 
through the basement, from 9 till 4. No admittance on Sundays." 

This, then, was the " Eldridge street Jail," of which we hear so much. 
Kot having, for our own part, any idea of this renowned public institu- 
tion, we were determined to pay it a visit "through the basement," and 
see what it was like. At the doorway wc met the Ccrebus, in the shape 
of a civil, quiet, gentlemanly looking man, who was puffing away lustUy 
at a cigar. 

" Good day, sir ! I have come to ask the privilege of going through 
the jail." 

" Certainly, sir — but for what purpose ?" 

" For the purpose of describing it. I am a writer for the press." 

" What press ?" 

" Oh, you will see when it comes out." 

After some further inquiries, as to whether any of the prisoners had 
written to us, and an indignant remonstrance on our part at the bare 
possibility of being mistaken for a shyster lawyer, Mr. Smith — yes, that 
is his name, Henry J. Smith — invited us into the place where the spi- 
der asked the fly. Passing through a narrow passage into the back 
basement, we found a young humpbacked Savoyard, some sixteen years 
old, busy trimming some lamps. He is an important witness in the 
case of the Frenchman who was shot in New-York la.st March, and is 
detained here as witness for want of bail. This seems a great hardship, 
in the abstract, and sometimes practically is one. But what are you to 
do ? It frc(iuently so happens, that either the ends of justice must be 
foregone, or an important witness detained. In the present case, for 
instance, nothing w©uld be easier than to induce this uncultivated young 
dwarf to disappear, if he had been left at large. He is not subjected 
to a rigorous confinement, but is employetl by the family of Mr. Smith 
in various household duties. He speaks English, and says he-iis quite 
as well satisfied with tiiis life as any other. He is a perfect specimen of 
his race, and only wants a hurdy-gurdy, or a cage of white mice, to 
make a splendid study for Mount or Freeman. 

There are generally not more than twelve or fourteen prisoners con- 
fined in this jail. Indeed, it could not well accommodate a greater 
number. The only provision for their confinement being a single row 



56 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

of narrow cells, running along the second story, and opening into a 
general passage. The prisoners are not kept apart, and the greater 
number of them were amusing themselves at a game of leap-frog, at the 
lower end of the hall, laughing and shouting as madly as a company of 
jschool-boys. 

•A majority of prisoners here are sailors, arrested for a constructive re- 
volt, in refusing to 'go to sea on the vessel where they have been ship- 
ped by their boarding-house master. The pernicious system of sailor 
boardlug-houscs is now so extended and ramified, that the whole body 
of our seamen are subject to its hardships, extortions, and rascalities. 
Every sailor, the moment he sets his foot on shore, becomes literally the 
property of some boarding-house keeper, who, if he does not succeed at 
once in inducing Jack to give him all his money in a lump, manages to 
get possession of it in a short time, through the inducements of the bar- 
room, and the seductions of the fair damsels with whom he is in league, 
or who frequently are in his employment. Jack then must run in debt, 
of course, for his board ; and the landlord then begins to ill-treat him, 
and to "knock him about like a dog," (as Greeley says the policemen 
in London do the quiet citizens,) until he chooses to ship him, in any 
direction, or any vessel, and for any price, he pleases. Sometimes Jack, 
taken on board half drunk, objects to the arrangements when he gets 
sober, and refuses to go to sea. This our wise marine laws convert into 
a revolt, and the poor devil, who has neither friends nor money, is con- 
signed to the care of Mr. Smith, until he becomes placable. 

The other class of prisoners confined here is composed of non-resi- 
dents, committed for debt, or persons accused of fraud, under some of 
the many and oppressive forms of our barbarous laws on this subject. 

Among these victims of our ridiculous enactments, and their perver- 
sions by lawyers, is one old gentleman, with a bright eye and benevolent 
grey head, who has been incarcerated now for over three years, for the 
heinous crime of endorsing a note, and not being able to pay it when it 
became due. If he had not been a non-resident, or if he had had plenty 
of money, he would not have remained there three days. As it was, a 
lawyer got hold of him when first he came in, plucked him of thirty or 
forty dollars, and then sold him to the other party. At length, after 
nearly three years of anxiety and suspense, he got another lawyer, by 
the advice of Mr. Smith, (to whom he expresses the greatest gratitude 
for his kindness) — and then, when the motion was made to discharge 
the prisoner, for the reason that the plaintiffs neglected to prosecute, 
their attorney produced a letter from the prisoner's former lawyer, re- 
questing them not to prosecute the case at present, and signed by him 
as " counsel for the defendant I'* Doubtless the shyster had been well 
paid for this dodge— and the poor fellow still remains in jailv He has a 
happy, contented disposition, however, and says he enjoys himself very 
well. He has a cribbage board and a pack of cards, and his little room 
is got up with some considerable taste — the walls being ornamented 
with several engravings in handsome gilt frames — and his cot looked 
clean and tidy. 

Another prisoner has been in durance for over two years, on a charge 

of fraud in selling oiit the goods of a partnership concern. He is mo- 

, rose and taciturn, and does nothing but smoke. Another, an English- 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 57 

man, was arrested on some trivml pretence, but being anable to proenre 
bail, must remain until it is tlie good pleasure of his persecutors to let 
him out.' 

lu short, so far as we CJin judge, all this part of our code is a sheer 
oppression, more barbarous than the old imprisonment for debt laws. 
Under the present statute and code of procedure, aiijan can be arrested 
upon an aflidavit stating that the jdaintifl" has reason to believe that the 
defendant is about to leave the State, for the purpose of defrauding his 
creditors — and on this he may be held in confinement for years, with no 
power (if he has neither friends nor money J to force the case to a trial, 
and establish his innocence. Common humantiy calls loudly for some 
provision by which the rights and liberty of strangers and unfortunates 
should be protected, as well as those of the wealthy and influential 
creditor. 

Among the other victims of the present state of things is a poor negro, 
who made some money in California, which he loaned to his employers, 
and took it out in "rot-gut" liquor, in which they dealt. Having over- 
drawn the sum, about twenty-five dollars, according to their account, 
they had him arrested here, as he was about to return to California, 
and had paid his passage on the steamer. He can neither read nor 
write, and his case is one of very grear hardship. 

The better class of prisoners — that is, those who have money — arc not 
confined in cells, or subjected to prison fare, but have the range of the 
house, and board at Mr. Smith's private table — for wrich they pay tea 
dollars per week. This is the o/ily remuneration Mr. Smith receives — 
being entitled for his depsty-ship only to house-rent. Among this latter 
class of prisoners, the Danish naval officer figured, last week, for several 
days, but ho is now at large. 

Mr. Smith seems to be a very kind-hearted, plain minded man ; and 
it is clear that, bad a,s it is, the Eldridge street prison has been much 
■vforse. The old prisioners are enthusiastically grateful to him for the 
many meliorations he has introduced in their treatment : we were going 
tokwrite meal-ioratioM, but we haven't time. 



CHAPTER XVI. 

MY UNCLE'S. 

The play of " Simpson & Co." is performed much oftener than is 
announced in either small bill or poster ; and, although at its most fre- 
quent representations, the audience is not large, yet it is select and 
curious enough to attract us there, rather than to the rush of the regu- 
lar dramatic establishments. If you like, reader, you may go with us 
to witness one of these by-plays in the great melo-drama of city life. 

It is eleven o'clock in the forenoon. The down-to vvn omnibuses have 
disgorged themselves of then: thousands of fat and sleek citizens, who 
have sought their offices and counting-houses, to take up then* hand in 
the endless game of speculation, at the point where yesterday they laid 
it down, and to go on winning and losing thousands, with many a heart- 
pang, but with imperturbable faces. There is no current of travel yet 
established upwards, and the jaded horses crawl slowly along with the 
vehicles half filled with miscellaneous strangers, strayed away from the 
routine march of the great army of business. Let us get into this Dry 
Docker, and seek our promised amusement. 

There — pull the strap before this tall house with three golden balls 
suspended over the door. This is the residence of my Uncle. A curious, 
eccentric, benevolent old gentleman is he — so profoundly affected by 
the wants and necessities of the poor, that he has fitted up, all at his own 
expense, a neat and comfortable place — a sort of compromise between 
a fancy bank and a police office — with counters and shelves, and ftifr- 
nished with fifteen or twenty clocks of all paterns and ages, and with 
every sort of face upon which old father Time has ever laid his hands — 
all ticking away independently, and pointing out all sorts of hours and 
minutes in the most provoking and obstinate way, as if they were really 
human. On the lower shelves are arranged innumerable rouleaus in 
paper, with the ends tightly screwed up like Mttle kinkey tails. A sour, 
Barnaby Rudge looking fellow stands at the back shelf, with about two 
bushels of pennies before him, from which he is industriously making up 
rouleaus and adding to the pile. Half-way up the counter is a division, 
separating it into two stalls. 

Behind the counter, with the face to the audience, stands the master 
of ceremonies — my venerable uncle himself ! He has a high, benevolent 
forehead, with a large development of the organ of ideality, and fine, 
silken hair, now faded to white, whose texture indicates a nervous and 
highly sympathetic organization. If phrenology is not at fault, this old 
gentleman must be one of the most angelic men that ever existed. 

The door opens, and enter a man and woman — a gentleman and lady, 
we ought to say, by their dress. Each carries a large bundle, wrapped 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 59 

ia white muslin and secured by innumerable pins. The lady hangs back 
— the gentleman makes a big gulp, strides fiercely up to the counter, 
and blurts out — 

" 1 have some articles here, sir, upon wliich I wish to raiiJC some 
money. Will you examine them ?" 

My Uncle is not at all frightened at this salutation from the ferocious 
young gentleman — probably takes pity on his youth. He does not 
examine the "articles" — he examines the young man. 

" What articles are they, sir ?" asks My Uncle, in a quiet, silken 
voice. 

" Look at them," gasps the young man, turning very red. 

The benevolent old gentleman complies without a vord. He takes 
out the pins, removes the wrappers, and turns over daintily about a 
dozen magiiiticcnt and costly dresses — silk, satin, lace and brocade, 
evidently made up in the height of style. 

" Wiiat do you want for these?" says my Uncle, insinuatingly. 

" They are worth $300 — but of course 1 don't expect anything like 
their value. I must take what you will give." 

" You can have $30." 

" Only that ? For God's sake give me fifty — I must have fifty !" 

My Uncle didn't even get angry ! He merely turned on hiij heel and 
walked to the other end of the counter. 

The young man looked at his companion — her eyes were glistening 
with tears. My Uncle had turned in his walk, and again stood opposite 
the young man. He lifted the bundles and gently pushed them towards 
him. 

" I — must — take the money." 

My Uncle said not a word — he turned to & little drawer behind him, 
and counted out the money — the young man made a grab, clutched the 
bills, stuffed them into his waistcoat pocket, and bolted out of the office, 
apparently forgetting all about the lady, who followed with a frightened 
step. 

Meanwhile a poor, thin, cadaverous-looking woman, who had been 
for some moments standing shrinkingly at the counter, came forward, 
and with a pale, haggard, trembling hand, offered My Uncle a little 
roll of cloth. 

It was composed of two little chemises — such little, dainty things- 
made for an infant. The material wa« fine, and the workmanship 
exquisite. 

" Eighteen pence," said my uncle, flinging the article to Barnaby, 
who counted out eighteen |X!nnies from his big heap, and handed them 
to the woman without looking at her. We believe her heart broke as 
she pressed her hand to her eyes, and staggered out of the office. 

There now entered a gaunt, sallow-faced man, dressed in seedy black. 
His eyes arc wild, and he has a startled look, like that of insanty. He 
is an opium-cater — dying for lack of his indispensable stimulus, and fear- 
ful that this last effort to get the means of procuring it may fail. He 
has a little package in his fingers, and deposits it on the counter. My 
uncle knows this visiter. He looks at him with pity, almost comtcmpt. 
The package contains a plain gold ring. The story ia told in a word. 
The poor opium-eater is a widower — this is his wife's wedding-ring. He 



60 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YOEK. 

has brought it to throw into the maddening fire that consumes his 
heart and brain. Fortunately, he will die in a few days. My Uncle 
sees this, and gives him a handsome amount for the ring — six bright 
new quarters. The man's wild eyes gleam more brightly ; he clutches 
the money convulsively, and hurries away as fast as his thin, tottering 
legs can carry him. He has the advantage over some of us, after all — 
he will have at least a few hours of happiness. Who dare hope for 
more ? 

Have you seen enough for to-day ? My Uncle is fast beginning to 
warm in his benevolent functions, and smiles faintly as the door opens 
more and more frequently. Already quite a crowd has gathered at the 
counter. A motley crowd, forsooth 1 Squalid beggary, with its last 
spoon to pawn for rum — starving gentility, blushing with shame, through 
cheeks haggard with want — drunken and mad-eyed genius, ready to 
pawn soul and body for another dram — childhood cowering in hunger — 
timid and shrinking girls — disease, starvation — every form that misery 
takes to escape, to the last moment, theft and prostitution. 

My Uncle, after all, is a benevolent gentleman, let his enemies say 
what they will. He supplies money to the needy when all others refuse, 
and only charges 25 per cent, interest, meanwhile keeping safely the 
property of the poor, and allowing them abundance of time to retrieve 
it. His banking house is a fruitful place for the study of human nature, 
and his "deposits" a most melancholy and motley collection of human 
misery. Good-bye, uncle — may we never need a better friend or more 
accommodating relative ! 



CHAPTER XVII. 

BEHIND THE SCBNBS. 

It is seven o'clock — and at a dark, mysterious-looking little door, in 
a side street, suspicions looking characters, male and female, have been 
stealthily entering. Most of them carry bundles under their arms, and 
now and then enters a boy with a basket, preceded by a woman. What 
are all these people, and where are they going ? Stop — here comes a 
carriage, which pnlls up at the little door. A lady gets out, followed 
by a maid and a bundle, and all disappear together behind the mysteri- 
ous door. Is it the private entrance to a foundling hospital ? or is thero 
to be an evening pic-nic, to which every guest brings his contribution ? 
We will follow, and find out this mystery. 

Inside the door, we are met by a little man perched on a high stool, 
and acting in the character of Cerebus, to what, from the profund dark- 
ness, may well be the entrance to the infernal regions. Wo arc stopped 
at the first step. 

" Do you belong to the company V 

" Certainly — don't you know 1" 

" Oh, yes — all right — go ahead." 

The company 1 What company ? He says he knows ; in which ha 
has decidedly the advantage of us. All right — go ahead 1 Not so 
easy, in a strange place, where there is not the least ray of light. IIow- 
ever, it seems we " belong to the company," whatever it may be, and 
we must, of course, therefore, "go ahead." Let us feel our way care- 
fully. 

Ugh I what a stumble I And there goes our left shin against the 
sharp corner of something — what ne.xt ? Isn't that the feeble glimmer- 
ing of a ray of light ? Patience and perseverance, and so — we tumble 
down a flight of stairs. No bones broken — " go ahead I" A few feet 
further brings us to a wild, strange, unearthly-looking place, partially 
lighted by perpendicular rows of gas burners, running along tall move- 
able partitions. A great many people are scattered aljout in all sorts 
of costumes and equipment. Here a squad of soldiers in loose lights 
and Chatham street uniforms, made to fit anybody, are going through 
the manual exercise, and manoeuvring about the large ojjcn space in the 
centre. The captain of this band has a great deal of trouble to make 
his gallant followers all turn in the same direction ; but at length ho 
seems to be pretty well satisfied with their performances. 

In this corner a young lady, with e.xtremcly thin and still sliortcr pet- 
ticoats, and legs quite i\s thin, but a good deal longer, is holding on to 
a projection from one of the wings, and indulging in a series of the most 
extraordinary leaps, jumps, and strides, to the imminent danger of our 



62 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

nose and her own neck. That is the danseuse who is practising the pas 
seal, which she is to perform between the pieces. Though slie is not 
wanted for an hour and a half, yet she always is the first to be " out 
and dressed " — or rather undressed — and amuses herself during the first 
piece by flirting with the actors as they come off the stage, and by quia- 
zing the actresses. 

Behind the flat, " third groove, U. B.," several strangely assorted men 
are walking, each with a little book or a crumpled manuscript in his 
hand, and assidiously talking to himself. Generals, servants, British 
and Americans, an Irishman with an extraordinary red wig, all are mix- 
ed up promiscuously, or walking amicably side by side, and jabbering 
away incessantly to themselves. From their grotesque costumes and 
strange gesticulatiens, you would imagine that we had penetrated into 
the interior of a lunatic asylum on a holiday. Here and there a lady, 
some in magnificent train dressess, others in short petticoats and funny 
aprons, like spruced-up chambermaids, is ensconced underneath a gas- 
burner, chattering to herself as earnestly as the men. 

Amid the scene, running in and out everywhere, bearing all sorts of 
queer utensils and "properties" — canes, coffe-pots, parchments, pipes 
and tobacco, crowns and crockery, snufi'-boxes and sandwiches — is that 
all-important character, the property man. He seems to feel the weight 
of a gigantic responsibility resting upon his shoulders. Atlas was no- 
thing to him. He must be everywhere at once, and have everything 
with him. Should a proclamation or a poker, a wax candle or a wed- 
ding ring, be out of place at the instant it was wanting — woe be to him ! 
The world would stop I 

And now the prompter, with an air of the intensest bustle and impor- 
tance, makes his appearance — damning, as a point of conscience, every- 
thing that the poor perspiring property-man has so laboriously accom- 
plished — upsetting all his arrangements with a kick and a pshaw ! (sup- 
posed to be one of the veritable " kickshaws," heard of nowhere but on 
the stage) — and has, everything all done over again. He looks at his 
watch, (a silver patriarch of watches, of the days when watches, as well 
as men, were twice the size they are at present,) and wonders " whether ' 

that d d leader has come yet ; " and vows that, if he doesn't arrive 

in two minutes, he will ring in the orchestra without him !" 

As if in reply to this terrific threat, a little Frenchman, with gold 
rings in his ears, and a stealthy, gliding pace, like a cat, suddenly ap- 
pears, and as suddenly disappears down a trap. The prompter, watch 
in hand, rushes to the side of the curtain where his little desk, palisaded 
with bell-handles, is fastened to the wall. He touches one of these little 
handles, and looks anxiously at a quiet personage in black, who has 
been for some minutes standing in the centi-e of the stage, with his eye 
applied to a minute hole in the green curtain. At length, as if satisfied, 
or at all events resigned, at the appearance of the audience — wliich, for 
some time past, has been growing more and more noisy and obstreperous 
— he raises his hand to the prompter — a little bell tinkles — the orchestra 
snap their fiddle-strings, give the reed mouth-pieces a preparatory sneeze 
— the horns and trombones give a preliminary grunt — the piccolo blows 
his nose — the bass drum stamps with impatience — and off they go. 
The "first music," consisting of a magnificent introduction in six flats, 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 63 

writtten by our little leader, iq imitation of Beethoven's symphony in 
A minor, after eight bars and a rallcntando as long as your arm, sud- 
denly fizzles into a sixth-rate Gorman waltz, with which the audience 
are so fimiliiw, (having heard it every night of the season,) that they 
materially increase the force of the "wind iustrumeuts," by whistling 
and singing- it in concert. • 

Meanwhile an intense activity prevails on the stage. The grand lady 
who arrived in a carriage, now makes her appearance, dressed like a 
princess, but rather more highly colored in face and bearing than 
would, perhaps, be admissible at a queen's drawing-room. The stage- 
manager, (who, of course, has ca-st himself for a leading light comedy 
part, although his fort is the heavy murderer busine^«s,) " sets the stage " 
with all due pomposity for the first scene. The actors' and actresses— 
the " little people" and "general utilities" — drop along, one by one, 
from trap-doors and wings, and invisible stair-cases from the " Qiea," 
where the dressing-rooms are perched like birds' nests, among the 
branches of canvass trees. 

At last everything is ready — the orchestra have wheezed and gasped 
and squeaked their way through " Der Freischut's," the stamping, whist- 
ling and shouting of the audience have subsided, like a hushed storm 
— the stage-manager utters the order, " clear the stage 1" the prompter, 
by this time grown very red and desperate, rings the fatal bell — the pro- 
perty-man starts convulsively and looks wildly at his tea-cups and tog- 
geries — and up goes the curtain ! 

Meanwhile, the characters not " on " till the second scene — those for- 
tnnatcs who don't play in the first piece, but are wanted for the farce — 
the manager in close confab with the next " star," with whom he is set- 
tling the preliminaries of an engagement — all congregate in the green- 
room, whence the call-boy summons whoever may be wanted. Here 
wit, fun, good humor, generally prevail. Sometimes, perhaps, a little 
subdued scandal, or flirtation, in the style of fashionable drawing-rooms, 
may be carried on. But in every well-conducted theatre the tone of in- 
tercourse, conversation, and manners, is as strictly comme. ilfaut as in the 
most irreproachable circles of private society ; while the conversation is 
much more witty, sparkling, and amusing than you can ever hope to 
meet among hum-drum, every-day people. The members of the thea- 
trical profession, from the very necessity of their daily and nightly pro- 
fessional duties, are obliged to acquire a quickness of apprehension, a 
familiarity with elevated sentiments, and an acquaintance with at least 
the forms of good breeding and civilized intercourse, which are unfortu- 
nately too rarely to be found in our self-conceited, ignorant, purse- 
proud, and puritanical " good society." 

The efl"ect of this is seen in the personal character of actors and ac- 
tresses. They arc gay, light-hearted, good-humored, aud unquestiona- 
bly the most kind-hearted and benevolent creatures in the world. No 
distressed actor ever appeals in vain to his brethren for aid, and all aro 
ever ready to give their time and services on the slightest provocation, 
without stopping to inquire why or wherefore. 

As to the slandors and calumnies uttered against the morals of the 
profession, they do not deserve answer, for they . only proceed from peo- 
ple who know nothing about the subject. At any rate, the idea of im- 



64 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

moral or criminal conduct in the green-room, dressing-rooms, or behind 
the scenes, is simply f)reposteroua. All who have ever been behind the 
scenes, well know that snch a thing is impossible, as much as it would 
be on the shilling side of Broadway. It is the very last place in the 
world for such a thing. Doubtless, a kind of light and playful badinage 
is sometimes indulged in, such as we all^ided to in the case of our vaia 
daiiseuses, but as to the idea of anything improper, it is ridiculous. We 
are not responsible for what people say, either in the green-room, the 
drawing-room, or the church. Immorality and seduction may set traps 
in all ; but we willingly avow that the manners of the green-room are at 
least equal to those generally prevailing in society. 

But the curtain is down — tlie " act music " is sawing away, and the 
performers are trooping towards the green-room. We have no right 
here, and it is only by special favor that we have been permitted to re- 
main so long. Having got in clandestinely, as " one of the company,"" 
we must make the best of our retreat, with as little ceremony as possi- 
ble. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE BLOOMERS IN BROADWAY. 

"While ruminating, the other evening, over the best way of conveying 
our ideas of the Woman's World Convention, we incontinently fell 
asleep, with the fignrc of Mrs. Bloomer in our mind's eye, as we had 
seen her that afterxoou working up Broadway, in a sky-blue coat and 
trowsers. When wo awoke, the gas was burning blue, and the follow- 
ing letters were lying on o:jr table. They express our opinion " 'zactly." 

" Sir — As I write to you anonymously, I may be excused from be- 
ginning my note with such a description of myself as I should like my 
friends to make of me when I am absent ; and thus sheltering my 
modesty under ray incognito, I proceed to say that I am in every sense 
of the word a ie//e— dear, kind dame nature having endowed me with 
the most essential qualifieations, and fate having given me fortune and 
position sufiQcient to make these quahfications appreciated. Of course 
I am ever on the watch for every new fashion, and have sometimes ven- 
tured to invent some peculiarly becoming to myself, which, under the 
sanction of the French name (I did not dare openly to avow my author- 
ship) my intimate friends have adopted ; by that means, much to my 
enjoyment, making great frights of themselves. Imagine, then, how my 
curiosity must have been roused by this novel innovation which has 
threatened to annihilate the whole race of flounces and trimmings upon 
which our taste and attention have for many years been lavished. I 
own, however, I was somewhat startled by the annouocment that we 
were to leave off petticoats ; but the recollection of a very tiny foot 
and a very well formed leg soon reassured me. I hope you are not 
shocked at my mentioning this last circumstance. I suppose as it is no 
longer immodest to show our legs, it is no longer improper to talk of 
them. Accordingly, I resolved to be the first to set the example, and 
to connect my name with the first bien portee St. Simonien dress in 
New York. I give then this name to it, because, after all, this drss is 
neither a Turkish dress nor a novelty, but only the dress introduced by 
the first socialists (the Saint Simoniens, in Paris,) some twenty years 
ago. My French governess told me this — pray don't think I can 
remember anything so far back. Well, I got this dress made of the 
most beautiful material and it fitted — oh ! so exquisitely ! Enier nous 
— a tailor had made it, for yon know dress-makers can't make trowsers, 
80 they will soon be of no use ; I put it on, and having stuck a grey 
hat, called a ' wide-awake,' sideways on my head, I assure you 1 made 
the prettiest little mnurais snjet imaginable. It was night, however, 
when I tried these things on ; so, resolving to go down Broadway in 
them on the morrow, I took them off, exchanged my trowsers for my 

5 



66 FIFTEEN MNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

long, flowing uiglit dress, (is this to be curtailed too?) and my hat for 
my little valenciennes-trimraed night-cap. I confess, after all, on look- 
ing in the glass as I tied it on, that I thought it was quite as agreeable to 
be a pretty woman as a pretty boy ; then laying my head on my pillow, 
I went to sleep. Now comes the v/onderful part of my story — I am 
almost afraid to tell it, but surely if grave magistrates, profound philoso- 
phers and eminent physicians believe in vulgar, prosaic knockings, and 
listen to horrid, illiterate spirits, who can't even say the words without 
first spelling them, surely you, dear Mr. Foster, who are a poet, will 
believe the apparition of sylph. Yes, a soft, murmuring noise, like the 
summer breeze through the thick foliage, roused me from my slumbers. 
A delicious perfnme filled the air, whilst a brilliant efiTulgence lighted 
the whole room — then, suddenly and but for a moment, the sweetest 
realization of all one imagines to be an etherial being, appeared before 
me, and gently bending over me, touched me with its wing and disap- 
peared, leaving in my hands the following address, which I have tra'ii- 
scribed on mortal paper, having myself secreted from all contaminatioa 
the real manuscript from the unreal world ; though I might have sent 
it to the journal dictated by the spirits, which is, I believe, after being 
printed in vulgar type, now circulated bodily amongst us ; but I feared 
from the real, practical sense and ability of my spirit's recitations, the 
mystic editors might doubt its authenticity, for what hitherto seems to 
add to the mysterious incomprehensibility of the knocking spirits is the 
utter uselessness of all they say or do — but 

" Somo secret truths, from learned pride concealed, 
To Dxaids alone and children are revealed." 

And now I leave, being assured you would rather read the produc- 
tion of the golden pen of a seraph than that of the humble goose-quill 
of one who is but figuratively an angel in the eyes of her admirers. 

Your constant reader, BEiftNOA. 



I am a sylph, known by the name of Ariel ; not the Ariel who stirred 
the tempest in Miranda's isle, but that gentler sylph, the guardian of 
fair woman's charms and adornments. Though from the earliest ages I 
have existed, I was never revealed to mortal eye till a poet, by choos- 
ing my special charge (woman) for his theme, wooed me into visibility. 
I am the Ariel of Pope, the graceful poet who sang the perplexities of 
another Belinda. I am the general of that " light militia of the lower 
sky " coeval with the first garment woman ever fashioned. A strange 
rumor has reached me in my court, where, unless to save some favorite 
fair, I ever dwell. 'Twas said some woman had rebelled, and scoffiiftgly 
rejected the draperies in which Helen and Cleopatra charmed — had 
donned the rough and uncouth garb of rugged man. I doubted : whea 
a sudden rush of wings from earth, of 

" Fifty chosen sylphs of special note," 

" We trust th' important charge, the petticoat," 

breathless with consternation and alarm, confirmed the horrid truth. 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 67 

Yet I, a grave and reasoning Rjlph, with mnch experience in my 
wings, did not at once lose heart ; but thinking tliis a crisis quite as 
imminent as Belinda's lock, which drew me from the spheres before, I 
come to give my connsel and my aid. 

From early days, when still there was respect, and man, still dreaming 
of his celestial origin, looked up, rather than to drag all down to earthly 
dust, he wrapped the fairer part of creation, those he could not keep 
from rough contact with all creation's ills, in drapery which recalled the 
vapory clouds in which, to many, when the world was young, angels had 
manifested themselves. Ever from time immemorial has the flowing 
drapery, noF called a petticoat, been assigned to all to whom homage 
was due. The Jewish rabbi, the Egyptian Pharaoh, the Roman 
Emperor, the infallible Pope, the Venetian Doge, the Holy Friar, have 
amongst men been robed in flowing skirts ; shall woman think she 
raises her position, then, by doflBng that garment which men borrowed 
from her when they wished, by outward signs, to signify authority and 
command respect ? In later ages, in the days of chivalry, men the most 
valiant stooped to kiss the hem of woman's robe ; and now how often 
does the rustling of redundant silk make hearts as brave and noble as 
theirs, beat, which the contact of buttons and broadcloth would not have 
power to move ! Will manly coats and scanty pantaloons supply the 
Bheltering folds around the expectant mother's form ; or will such rough 
attire content the baby's form, whose haven is its mother's lap, nestling 
the while warm and snug in Ucr bosom, amidst soft folds of muslin, when 
the contact with its father's clothes chafes its fair skin and leaves its 
tiny form unsheltered ? No ; whatever her vagaries, woman will be a 
mother still. My sylph need weep no more. And the young girl, 
whose form so round and delicate seems to suggest the very texture 
which she wears, what will she look like, but a reedy, weakly lad, an 
awkward likeness of her elder brother ? For once, my fair young charges, 
let your sylph persuade you ; do not rush to womanly extremes ; retain 
your womanly apparel ; let the long robe sweep along the floor of the 
homes and caress the daisies of the spring turf ; as you walk, a hundred 
sylphs shall bear each fold aloft ; restrain the awkward foot ; arrest the 
impending rent. Why aim at taking from man the very dress pronounced 
by fifty years of artists as the perfection of ungainly ugliness 1 

Yet, as I have allowed the long, flowing skirt of the habit, so would I 
thus suggest that, as gradually from that mental superiority it needs no 
borrowed aid from dress to proclaim, and which each year will rapidly 
develop, you are brought into the battle of active life and forced to 
buffet with the elements, you would adopt not Turkish nor Moorish 
trowscrs, but trowsers just loose enough to conceal the shape of the limb 
it covers, made in dark cloth, fastened round the top of your own gaiter 
boots — then wear a high tunic to the knee of the same material, thickly 
plaited round the waist, a black leather belt with the aumoniere at the 
side for your handkerchief and purse ; reveal at the wrists and round 
the throat a dazzlingly white collar and cuffs, put on yonr head the broad 
sombrero of the Spaniards, and go take your place in the stream of sordid, 
money-making men, by whom your prettiest womanly attire would be 
at such a time quite unperceived. Formerly, women went abroad wiih 
a mask on the face, to indicate that bueiness and necessity took them 



68 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

out ; let this dress replace the purpose of the mask. But beware of 
laying aside your woman's skirt — the cestus of Venus did not contain 
more charms. This new dress was nerer invented by a woman — it is a 
trap laid by insidious man to enable him to throw off his allegiance to 
the sex he is now bound to court, respect and love ; take the advice of 
a sylph who has known the belles and beaux of all countries. BeMeve 
it is pleasanter to be a woman than a man. 

Ariel. 

Let all women read this revelation from the spuitual world, and 
profit by it. 



CHAPTER XIX- 

A SHORT CHAPTER ON H US E - H UK T INQ. 

Oft, for an Arab's tent, to sit down anywhere, and pack np when one 
wants a change of location ! for to find a liouse is a Herculean labor, 
and as one wanders through the maze of brick edifices, one wonders how 
the people ever got in them, and, above all, how they can ever consent 
to get out of them. 

Take up the Sun, the Herald, and Tribune : it would seem you havo 
only to choose. Put down the agent's name ; or, stay — let us write to 
the agent. A pause of two days. Then comes the reply, referring yoa 
to such a number, such a street, or sueh an avenue. Now, the streets 
and avenues are pretty long ; so, as you don't know the where-abouts 
of the numbers, you proceed on foot. Here it is, " to be seen from 4 
to 6" — it is just twelve I Yon are two miles from home. Get out of 
temper with that house ; turn down another street, and ring the first 
door on which you see a bill. " Can I see the house ?" " Certainly." 
Over it you go, from back basement to back attic. Wondrous are the 
sights you see. Viewing a house whilst inhabited by people going to 
leave, is like seeing the woman you love, in old slippers and curl papers. 
Still, you divest it in your mind's eye of its objectionable tenants, and 
think that it will do. You come to a confidential communication with 
the maid-servant in the hall, and ask the terms. Oh, don't imagine 
you're coming at them so soon as all that. No, no — all you get is an 
agent's name down in John street, or Nassau. Well — patience and an 
omnibus take you there. The office is that of the gentleman — by no 
means a house agent, excepting in this case ; hates the business, and 
growls at you before you begin. " What rent ?" " Why, as to rent, 
he hadn't meant to rent, but to sell ;" — and he resumes his pen, his 
register and his calculation. " Well — its your own fault ; why didn't 
you read the paper ?" So it is all to d© over again. One lady is indis- 
posed — couldn't see the house to-day. To-morrow, perhaps, or next day. 
Another party wants to board with you, if you take the house. An- 
other, just as you have concluded, and begin to set your mind (and 
your legs) at rest, sends you word that they've changed their minds 
and mean to .stay. April passes over your head ; out you must go 
So, in desperation, you plunge, children and all, into one of the public 
palaces called hotels, where all your wife's gowns look shal)by by the 
side of the gold, velvet and satin of the furuiture, and consequently 
must be renewed. 



TO FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

Then your children get pale and thin, from Wng cooped up and 
stuffed with everything but the right things ; the dinner hour interferes 

with your business ; and the bill is " angels and ministers of grace 

defend us 1" two figures ! — no ; it is thre« figures at the end of the 
•Hreekly bill. Avaunt ! I'll see no more 1 



CHAPTER XX. 

THB ITALIAN OPERA AND MAX MARETZEK. 

So, DEAR reader, you have never been to the Italian Opera, yon tell 
me ; I assure you it is high time that this important defect in your 
education should be remedied ; because, permit me to tell you, the 
Italian Opera has become one of the established and most conspicuous 
of our glorious institutions, and not to be familiar with its organization, 
its characteristics, its beauties and general atmosphere, marks one as 
very low down in the scale of refinement, elegance and social distinction. 
Sprung from the rich and fertile soil of the Italian mind, this tender and 
passionate exotic has suddenly taken deep root in the Anglo-Saxon 
character, and so naturally have our fair ladies and energetic young 
men adapted themselves to Its peculiarities, its voluptuous chirms, tJiat 
it finds itself as much at home in the crimson-CHshioned security, though 
the windows were once smashed, of Astor Place, as on the heights of 
Bergamo, or within the jewelled and gas-light horizon of her Majesty's 
Theatre, or the Italian 0,nera in Paris. 

" In New-Orleans, the brilliant metropolis of the sunny South, the 
Opera is even more warmly welcomed and more keenly cherished than 
in the colder and snowy northern capital. To the French, and espe- 
cially the Cscole French of Louisiana, music, which is the language of 
passion and the sentiments of love and chivalry, is and ever has been 
one of the first and most important elements of moral and social exist- 
ence. 

It is in this form that the great and immortal truths of art find ready 
entrance to the minds and characters of our population, and impart 
their beautiful lessons of purity and refinement to the whole community. 
We cannot, therefore, conceive of a more proper direction for the labors 
of a few leisure hours than an effort to make the distinguished artists 
belonging to the modern Italian Opera now on this continent, more 
familiar in their peculiarities and specialities to the American people, 
and thus to gradually lead the public taste step by step, through the 
atmosphere of each individual artist, to the highest sphere of an enno- 
bled and refined criticism. 

We are in this country old enough and rich enough to at last pause 
in our impetuous and rude career for wealth, and to commence erect- 
ing those standards and structures of the beautiful, by which alone our 
position in the scale of civilization and progress can be judged by the 
foture. Wealth fades, the sceptre of commercial and political power 
passes from shore to shore and from people to people, and the sands of 
the desert or the waves of the ocean bury forever the footsteps of 
material civiliaatiotf ; but greatness in art, intellectual altitude, and per- 
fectiou in the creation of the beautiful, can never die or become extinct. 



72 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK 

"A thing of beauty is a joy forever;" ' 

and once spoken into existence by the creative power of the artist, 
every beautiful object or thought he produces lives eternally to work its 
beneficent influences on mankind. Those, therefore, who have been 
mainly instrumental in introducing the Italian Opera into this country, 
and who, through indescribable sacrifices, losses and disappointments, 
have persevered steadily in building it up as an established institution 
among us, deserve our applause and gratitude. 

Without the slightest intention of being invidious in what we are 
about to say, it must be admitted by all who know the history of the 
Italian Opera in this country, and have watched it from its first trans- 
plantation to the present hour of its prosperous growth, that, of all who 
have labored in the cause. Max Maretzek is the most efficient and 
deserving. It is to him, then, the Manager and sole Director of the 
Italian Opera in this city, and of its interests in the United States, that, 
with your permission, impatient reader, we will first introduce you. 

Come then with us into the Opera Heuse. It is a gala night, and the 
house is what the daily papers so originally and graphically describe as 
" the fullest and most fashionable of the season." The flash of the gas- 
lights is reflected from hundreds of white and jewelled bosoms, from 
dark, sparkling eyes and azure orbs that melt then* glances into the 
soul. A rosy and perfumed atmosphere, such as is shed alone by the 
presence of the world of fashion and high breeding, pervades the house 
and intoxicates the senses like a distilled dream of raptm*e. The rustr 
ling murmurs of whispered voices and the voluptuous sounds of women's 
silken j-obes, which always make the heart beat with a tumultuous and 
passionate sensation, are gradually stilled one by one. The lank and 
MghtfuUy mustachoed members of the orchestra emerge from their 
underground and gnome-like retreat beneath the stage, and fall into 
their places at the little desks against which lean the huge misshapen 
monsters from whose throats the blatant overture is soon to be evoked. 
A moment of dead silence supervenes, and a handsome, bright-faced 
man, who insensibly makes you feel as if you were basking in the warm 
sunshine, appears, like an embodiment of Apollo himself. Gracefully 
and with a certain dignity which art imparts to all its disciples, he 
makes his way through the croucMng musicians, and assumes his place 
on an elevated seat in the centre and directly in front of the green 
umbrella, behind which Italian prompters traditionally are ensconced — 
though how in the name of all the Ravels they find room there for the 
coUing up and due functionaUty of their proportions, has ever been to 
us the profoundest of Sphynx's mysteries, and so remains even to the 
present day. 

That is Max Maretzek, or, as the critics of New York are fond of 
styling him. Napoleon Maretzek ; and truly such he is and has proved 
himself in many a hard-fought field, waving his truncheon high above 
the fierce conflict of trombones and hautboys, violins and frimo, dowm, 
and carrying off the honors amid showers of bouquets that flew like 
spent cannon balls, harmless about his head. 

Everything is ready ; a couple of faint taps with the baton on the lit- 
tle tin candlestick announces that the grand cannonading of the brass 
pieces and other instruments of modern operatic warfare is about to 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 73 

begin. High in air for a moment tbe fatal baton is bcld suspended, 
while tba eye of every soldier in the grand orchestral army is intently 
fixed upon its jeweled point, ready to blow his brains out at its first 
dosccndinj: motion. Cnush, clang, clatter ! Away they go — the first 
violin in hot pursuit of the trombones, Ukc a pack of hounds after a yell- 
ing deer ( though we don't know as deers do yell ; but it is no matter — 
for our purpose they must yell.) The Clarionet gives a tremendous 
enort, and starts off pell-mell after the Flute, which whistles a loud de- 
fiance as it flies. The fat Fagotto grunts and waddles after, and the 
gigantic Contra-basso, with its arms raised high in air, growling defiance 
, against the field, stalks majestically and solemnly over the course. The 
f'Bass-drum rolls out spasmodic fits of rage and excitement, and the Gong 
I clatters and clashes along, a very musical locomotive, set in motion by 
some superhuman laboratory of invincible steam. Calm and serene amid 
the operatic tempest, which his wand has invoked, stands tlie implaca- 
ble magician, guiding the storm to most harmoniuus measure and melodious 
issue. Gradually the excitement of the race increases, and all united 
_ mingle in the fray. In the terrible din that attends the last grand 
..crash of the-hard hunted overture, it is impossible to distinguish exactly 
who arrives first. But it is enough that the harassed creature yields 
gracefully to his fate, and that all are fairly in at the death. Then, 
acknowledging the applause of the delighted spectators with a graceful 
gesture and a half bow, the leader of the fray reverses his magio wand — 
and up goes the curtain. 

Now begins the serious part of the duties of an operatic generalissi- 
mo in the horn- of engagement. The inanimate flutes and fiddles of the 
orchestra, and the scarcely less mechanical Dutchmen who now blow 
^and scrape them, it is comparatively an easy task to guide and direct ; 
.tut to manage the singers is a far more delicate matter. To play the 
^midwife to a prima donna big with a cadenza, and see her safely deliv- 
iCred of a squalling cavatiua ; to watch a bellowing baritone through the 
struggling agonies of the utterance of that musical sea, iu which he 
,,threat<:ns every moment to drown himself ; to attemper the intonations 
^of the orchestra, and the momentum of the rhythm, to the halting ad 
fJibitum of the primo tenore ; to caulk the vents that time has made in 
^Ihe vocal graniture of the basso cantante ; and to cover up defects which 
a want of time renders but too apparent in the chorus — these are tasks 
which require more than the genius, the skill, the patience, and the indom- 
itable perseverance of a mere military conqueror, and which Napoleon 
himself, in the height of his glory, could never have accomplished. But 
Max — our Max — why, it is nothing but childs' play to him. Minerva 
at the prow of Telemachus' frail l)ark was not more serene and compos- 
ed, nor more secure of the issue than he ; for he feels within himself the 
conscious presence of that magnetic power over the mind and will of 
those whom he makes his instruments, which nothing but genius imj)arts, 
and nothing short of genius can merit. *He counts not the time by bars 
or phrases, and sustains not the flagging intonations by mere force of 
mechanical tone ; but he infuses his will into the performance and per- 
formers, and all move and undulate with the harmonious pulfiatiou of 
his own brain. 

Seriously, without exaggeration, the oEBco of operatic conductor 



74 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

requires a rare combination of high powers and faculties, both mental 
and moral. A mere mechanical knowledge of music, no matter how 
complete, is by no means sufl&cient to enable its possessor to conduct 
properly the works of the great masters of the lyric drama. Not only 
a thorough knowledge of composition, bu<; no inconsiderable degree of 
absolute talent, is requisite to enable the conductor thoroughly to feel 
and understand the Tery sentiment of the author, and to impart that 
confidence, precision and unity to the orchestral and choral departments, 
absolutely necessary to produce the true effect of operatic representation. 
The opera is a series of pictures painted with sound — a sort of musical 
panorama, in which the effect of music, as an art, is intensified and infi- 
nitely heightened by being united to sentiment, passion, situation and 
plot. Therefore, none but one who is him«elf an artist, and can feel 
and understand all the beauties and effects of art, is capable of under- 
taking to interpret to the uninitiated world of listeners, " the thoughts 
that breathe and words that burn," of which music, in common with all 
forms of art, is intrinsically composed. 

Mr. Maretzek has shown, by many successful and brilliant composi- 
tions, which are already well known to the musical world of this country 
and Europe, that he possesses in an eminent degree the gift of musical 
genius and inspiration. Were he not so continually absorbed in the 
arduous and perplexing duties of theatrical management, it is evident 
to all who are familiar with the productions he has already given to the 
public, that he has it in his power to become one of the first and most 
eminent composers of his age. It is the destiny, however, of many men 
of genius, especially in this hurrying, harem-scarem age, to fritter away, 
in fragmentary efforts the strength, the mind and the genius which, 
properly husbanded and discreetly expended, would raise them to a 
high rank among the creative intellects of their day and generation. 
The management of an 'Opera or a theatre may be compared, in this 
respect, to the task of editing a daily newspaper. Many editors of 
journals in this country have expended and are continually expending, 
in the course of their professional career, mind and genius enough to 
kave buUt them the loftiest reputations — but which, scattered broadcast 
over the columns of a newspaper, seen this moment and then thrown 
aside forever, reflect no permanent renown upon them, and only serre 
to enable them to meet the daily and weekly needs of a common-place 
and imperfect existence 



GIHAPTER XXI. 

NEW YORK GOING IN THE COUNTRY-THE FIRST OF JULY. 

The winter of the fashionable world is about to set in, and in prepara- 
tion for its rif^ors, the dainty creatures wlio inhabit this fairy realm are 
repluuiing themselves in fresh and gay habiliments adapted to the emer- 
gencies of the approaching season. Already has commenced the annual 
migration from the brilliant arena of Wilton and gas-lights to the green 
fields ani sunny landscapes, the breezy beaches and the shady drives, 
where the listless hours of winter inactivity are to glide by. The gaie- 
ties and festivities by which the long nights of metropolitan summer 
have been embellished, and in which so many glorious scenes and emo- 
tions are embalmed, have ceased, and we are now standing idly in the 
lull between the two great waves upon whose crests the fashionable 
world rides to and fro, pendulating from Union Square to the United 
Suites, and between carpet flirtations and the sea-duck-tioua of New- 
port. 

Though solitude and silence reign in the gold and velvet domains of 
drawing-room and boudoir, yet in other departments of the fashionable 
household all is bustle and activity ; not the thrilling occupation of 
fatigue of enjoyment, but the exhausting and temper-destroying industry 
of preparation. Oh, who can tell the pains and penalties, the chcapen- 
ings and chafferings, the discontent, the toil, the anxiety, the hearts 
straining solicitudes, that atteud a fashionable woman in conducting to 
a triumphant termination the grand labors of getting herself up for the 
summer campaign ? What studyings of styles, what discussions of pat- 
terns, what coquetting with virgin millinery, what discousolatioos of 
exhausted shelves, what divings into exhaustless bandboxes, what 
ravagings of ribbons and flummery, go to make up the daily toil and 
nightly dreams of the fair deaizer-s of the West End, during these two 
momentous months now gliding so serenely by I In view of the newest 
color for bareges, the selection of a candidate for the presidency sinks 
into utter insignificance; and compared with the momentous question of 
flounces and cadet waists, the destinies of all Europe deserve no sort of 
consideration. Fancy shopkeepers, dressmakers and millinors are the 
true politicians of these times, and pretty closely are they occupied from 
morning till night 1 Broadway, from the marble palace of my Lord 
Stewart to the farthest outposts of drygoodsery, upon the very frontiers 
of shopdom, is lined with brilliant equipages lying three deep along the 
curbstones, like the shipping at the slipfi in the East River. Salesmen 
exhaust themselves in smiles, and pile their costly and gaudy fabrics 
mountain-high before the gloating eyes of their fastidious cuatomerfl. 



76 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

Seamstresses at niue shillings the week grow pale and hungry, and thin 
and stoops-houldered, while by the meagre light of a hungry lamp they 
embroider with weary fingers the roses of their youth and the flowers of 
their existence into the robes that are to adorn the dainty bodies and 
limbs of their aristocratic customers. Husbands and papas implore 
moderation with tears in their eyes, and laggard pens scribble reluc- 
tantly away at check books ; while young men hold nightly consulta- 
tions over brandy smashers and billiards at Bassford's, of the best and 
"fastest" way of scattering the "governor's" allowance. In fine, the 
whole fashionable world is burning and restless under the incipient fever 
of preparation that ushers in the annual metropolitan epidemic, which 
nothing but change of scene and the most exhausting bleeding of the 
head of the family, vicariously for wife and daughters, can cure or alle- 
viate. 



CHAPTER XXIL 

THB CHIEF OF POLICE— A TRUE ROMANCE OF LIFE IN NEW YORK. 

There are far better romances constantly occurring in the records of 
the police department than any imagined or written by our public novel- 
ists of society. The best of these, or rather the most interesting, seldom 
see the light or fina themselves in print. As it is against our principles, 
however, to publish and repeat the matter of our contemporaries, it is 
oar pui-pose now and then to edify our readers by some of the moat 
interesting of these police-office romances, the details of which we have 
gathered, no matter how, but we can assure the public that we have a 
perfect right to them and that they are authentic. Of course, we shall 
disguise the names and localities and attendant circumstances of these 
cases, so that they cannot lead to a recognition ; for our motto is, in 
respect to the shps and peccadiloea of mankind, " let by-gones be b;^ 
gones." 

Some time ago a very pious, respectable and esteemed deacon of one 
of our fashionable churches, one of whose functions was to carry round 
the plate on collection days, observed, for several Sundays in succession, 
a very blooming and handsome lady who invariably put into the contri- 
bution plate a five-dollar gold piece, where, amid the smooth dimes and 
worn-out uinepences by which it was surrounded, it looked like tho 
mama and nieces mentioned by Byron, shining like 

" A guinea and seven shilling pieces." 

The handsome lady invaribly, as she deposited her coin in the plate, 
gave the susceptible deacon a sad and tender glance, (doubtless of 
unaflccted charity and benevolence,) which went direct to his half frozen 
old heart and thawed out the flowery memories of sweet sixteen. At 
length, after this rather expensive process of coquetting with the old 
gentleman's susceptibilities had continued for several Sundays, the lady, 
as the plate came round, timidly arrested the hand of the deacon and 
whispered to him that she would be glad to consult with him on the 
affairs of an unfortunat« member of " our church" who was in great 
embarrassment and distress — at the same time slipping her card with 
her address into his hand- 
It is tlie part of a Christian as well as a gentleman to be punctual to 
one's appointments, especially with the ladies ; and it may be sujiposed 
that our respectable friend was not behind time in calling upon his fair 
parishioner. Ho rang the Ik-II with a fluttering iieart and a sensation 
that had been a stranger in his bosom for something over half a century 
Entering a tastefully and hand-somely-furuishcd boudoir, he found a lady 



78 FIFTEEN SOMITES AROUND NEW YORK. 

in one of those indescribably bewitching dishabilles which only mischie- 
vous women have power to imagine, and which more certainly than rifle 
or cannon ball, do execution upon the doomed object at which they are 
aimed. To make a long story short, as our garrulous grandpapa used 
to say when winding up one of his three-hour stories, this purely chari- 
table and benevolent visit was repeated again and again. From the 
poor in the next alley, whose destitution had been the original cause of 
their meeting, they soon transferred their attention exclusively to each 
other ; and so well did the artful little devil ply her resources, that in a 
few days she succeeded in infusing new fire into the withered and dried 
up heart of the old deacon, and in transforming him into a beseeching 
and palpitating lover. It need not be said that she was not a cruel 
nymph. She told him^ her unfortunate history — how that she had been 
married at sixteen (we never did know a woman who was not married 
at sixteen) to a hard-hearted and brutal wretch who had neglected, 
abused and then abandoned leer ; and that she was at this moment that 
worst species of widow — a grass widow. Her heart she said was full 
of pious enthusiasm and sympathetic tenderness, and she only longed 
for some noble and manly bosom into which she could pour the overflow- 
ing emotions of her too sensitive nature. 

Weeks ran on in this blissful dream of fond and reciprocal attach- 
ment, when, one day — oh, fatal day ! — as the lovers were indulging ia 
that fond dalliance which (as the novelists say) can be better imagined 
than described, that accursed and noisy sentinel on the outpost of con- 
ventionalism — the door-bell — was violently rung ; and ere our Phillis 
and Cerydon could recover from the confusion into which this terrifying 
sound had thrown them, the husband, the veri«table husband ! rushed 
into the room, bludgeon in hand, and hot for vengeance, upon the assail- 
ant of his injured honor. 

The dismay of our friend the Deacon wras crushing. He offered terras 
of compromise — a thousand dollars — two thousand — three, four, five, 
six, — TEN thousand ! No, it would not do : this stain upon the outraged 
husband's crest could not be effaced for a single dollar less than fifty 
thousand I It was destruction ; it would shake the old and time-hon- 
ored house of & Co. to its centre ; it was ruin — bankruptcy I On 

the other hand was a prosecution, disgrace, ruin and infamy. What a 
dilimma for our respectable Deacon, who had only visited one of his 
parishioners on a mission of benevolence and charity ! Surely it is an 
ungrateful world 1 

The injured husband, all things considered, took the affair with very 
commendable equanimity ; he was in no hurry, he would give the gen- 
tleman time to consider. Meanwhile the alternative was fixed — fifty 
thousand dollars and n©thing said, or an action in the courts for seduo 
tion and adultery. Pondering day and night on this sad secret, our 
worthy Deacon lost his appetite, his flesh, his spirits. He grew sad, 
hypochondriac, and at length fell sick and took to his bed. The family 
physician came and told him at first sight that he was laboring under 
some great mental excitement, which was all that ailed him. He advised 
that his patient should immediately make a confidant of some member 
of his family and gdl the burthen off his conscience as soon as possi- 
ble, whatever it might be. The advice was followed, and the old ge»- 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 79 

tleraan, with many a contortion of rage and mortification, at length 
told the whole story to his son-in-law, who at once undertook to arrange 
the affair amicably. 

Calling: upon the very amiable and polite Cliicf Matsell, the son-in- 
law laid the case before him with perfect candor, and asked his advice 
in the premises. 

The chief told him to call in a few days and he would see what could 
be done. Meanwhile he set the subordinates of his office at work upon 

the tra<:k of the fashionable Mrs. and her equally fashionable 

husband, and soon discovered that they wore in the habit every night 
of supping late with a few friends. This looked bad for their respect- 
ability, and confirmed the Chief in his suspicions and his course. Arm- 
ing himself with the necessary key.s, he waited till the hour at which the 
supper was in full headway, and then going to the house, he quietly 
opened the front door, walked up stairs, and entered the front room 
where the party were assembled round the supper table. Casting a 
rapid police oCBce-glance round the room, he was somewhat taken aback 
by failing to recognise a single person. However, putting a good face 
on the matter, and trusting to luck and a good cause, he proceeded : 

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!" said the Chief, "I am glad to 
see you." 

" Who the arc you," exclaimed the master of the house, jump- 
ing from ^e table, while the other guests gave signs of great excite- 
ment. 

• " Oh it's all right," said the Chief ; " Matsell, the Chief of PoUce ; 
you know me. All right, go ahead." 

The announcement of this magic name created the utmost consterna- 
tion among the party, the members of which, each on his or her own 
hook, began making tracks for the door. Quietly locking it, however, 
with his own key, which he deijosited in his pocket, the Chief smiled 
benignantly upon the company, and approaching the table, helped him- 
self to a glass of wine, which he drank to the very good health of the 
ladies and gentlemen present. At this moment he caught the eye of 
the mistress of the house — a vague reminiscence came ovex him of hav- 
ing seen her somewhere and at some tune ; when and where, however, 
he could not for the life of him remember. 

" Nice supper you have here, madam," contmued the Chief, looking 
round the table. " Ham, boned Turkey, champagne, pie — let us see, 
(liftii>g up the cover,) pigeon pie, dove — 'um." 

" For God's sake, Mr. Matsell," said the woman, "don't ; come with 
me in the next room ; I'll own up — it ain't any use — I see you know 
me." 

" No, madam," said the Chief, " I really have not that honor, although 
I confess, I should like to be better acquainted with you." 

" Why, haven't you just mentioned my name," said she, " in talking 
about that pie ?" 

A light broke upon the Chief — pigeon, dove, thought he — 

" Ah my dear Mary — Mary Dove ; how do you do ? How you have 
altered 1" 

Mary owned up, as she bad promised. She said that ahe had recently 
come on to the citj to meet her husband, who hod just serred out a 



80 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

five years' term in the State Prison, and that they had put up this game 
between them, making use for their purpose of the " swag " which he 
had " planted " before he had got his sentence. She said it had already 
cost them pretty smartly, and if he would only let them ofif this time, 
they would take themselves out of town. 

It seems that Mary Dove was a Scotch girl, who had emigrated to 
this country several years before, and had been in good circumstances. 
She was, however, afflicted with the propensity to steal, merely for the 
sake of stealing — a propensity more common among women than is gen- 
erally supposed. Having been detected in several gross thefts, she had 
lost her position, friends and reputation, and had gradually been driven 
to a life of license and of crime. 

The result of this discovery and of the case we have been narrating, 
need not be told in detail ; it is sufficient to assure our readers that the 

Deacon was speedily restored to health ; that the great house of 

& Co. is as flourishing as ever, and that the worthy head of the estab- 
lishment may be seen every Sunday at his accustomed duty of carrying 
the plate round among the benevolent members of " our church." But 
if he ever sees a gold piece deposited among the change, or receives a 
more than usually expressive glance from a pair of black eyes, he may 
be observed to turn pale and tremble, and to hasten away from that 
pew as if he had seen a rattlesnake coiled up on the velvet cushion, or 
the Father of Evil himself peeping out from behind a prayer book. 



CHAPTER XXIII. \ 

THE PRESS AND A PUBLIC DINNER. 

Of all the exciting and irritating periods of life, (might have writtefl 
the great Doctor Johnson, had he been so " dispoged,") perhaps the 
quarter of an hour before the ringing of the bell, is the most unmiti- 
gatedly tantalizing and provoking. We are among those unfortunate 
people who, in constant dread of sharing the fate of the truly unfortu- 
nate Mr. Daniel Tucker, who was too late to come to supper, are 
always from a quarter to a half hour too early. Are we to visit 
Philadelphia or Syracuse, to attend the National Old Fogy Convention, 
we are sure to be at the depot, or on board the boat a full quarter of 
an hour before the bell rings, with ample opportunities for making our 
observations upon the men, women and things that come tumbling in 
up to the instant of starting. 

But it is not of railroads and steamboats we are now to speak j 
the "quarter of an hour before the bell rings" with which we are 
inspired, is that which intervenes before the sitting down to a public 
dinner. Of course the press have all been invited, and all are, or will 
be present — at least, such as are in the habit of eating and drinking 
their way into the columns of each others' papers. Many notabilities 
and celebrities are also to be present — here and there, perhaps, an alder- 
man has found his way in — and there is any quantity of generals, 
colonels, judges, etc., etc. Notwithstanding that Mr. Sandford came a 
great democratic dodge in going to Louis Napoleon's fete in plain black 
coat and trowsers, where, as the witty Turkish Ambassador said to him, 
he looked like a black crow among a flock of golden birds — notwith- 
standing the ultra-democratic pow-wow in which our press and people 
have indulged on this and all other possible and impossible occasions — 
wc will undertake to turn out a greater number of colonels, majors, 
generals, and titled abilities of all sorts, than can be done in any other 
city on the globe. A public dinner is especially a point where all these 
distinguished characters congregate — and we have here a fine oppor- 
tunity of seeing and studying the masculine side of American " distin- 
guished society." 

Early as we are, there are those who have been beforehand with ua; 
young reporters, just hatched, who are let out of the paste-room on a 
trial trip to a public dinner — awkward ensigns of new-fledged target 
companies, who have got in as substitutes on some editor's ticket who 
couldn't come — young ward politicians, not yet Presidents or Governors, 
but who coufideutly expect to be — here and there, perhaps, a hen-pecked 

6 



82 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

diviue, glad to escape aii eyening at home, on the pretence of attending 
a sick brother — or a maudlin poet, out of elbo\vs and a boarding-house, 
who has begged the invitation of some editor upon whose readers he 
inflicts his capital-lettered platitudes — the Honorable Mr. Fitzdumpling, 
member of Congress elect from the forty-seventh district — these, hungry 
and shark-like, have been for an hour past hanging around the drawing- 
rooms, and watching with eager eyes the Movements of the waiters 
gliding in and out of the dining-room. 

Yonder on a sofa in the corner, sits a dark, mysterious-looking man 
— philosophic yet ravenous, self-possessed yet sternly anxious. This is 
the gentleman upon whom devolves the responsibility of speaking, on 
all occasions, for the press. He is sometimes overwhelmed with the 
onerous and somewhat incongruous duties of his position. Some- 
times he does not sleep at all for several nights previous to some grand 
public occasion — though we never heard that his appetite was seriously 
affected. It will, of course, be readily understood that such intense 
solicitude must create a corres|Donding thirst, which longs to assuage 
itself in oceans of champagne, (young Charles Heidseick, of course — 
couldn't think of touching any other brand) — or in inducing oblivion of 
its fires in torrents of Burgundy. At the present moment, his capacious 
stomach and expansive nature are equally divided between a prophetic 
craving after the good things to go into his mouth, and a study of the 
good things which are expected to come out of it. i 

About this time there is a batch of new arrivals — regular, experienced, 
veteran dinner-eater, who, without putting themselves into an excite- 
ment, always manage to be just in time, and a few minutes to spare — 
that may completely establish that severe tranquility so necessary to 
the proper enjoyment of a good dinner. These are men, who, either 
from parsimony or limited income, maintain an excessively modest cui- 
sine at home, and who depend entirely upon public dinners, trial trips 
of steamboats, railroad excursions, "feeds" at the trade-sale, &c., for 
the gratification of their gormandizing propensities. The great object 
of these persons is to become acquainted with an editor — any editor, 
any how, so that he is an editor. Then they toady him to the top of 
his bent — call him a modern Franklin, and predict for hi^s journal a suc- 
cess far exceeding anything ever before heard of. All this is for the 
purpose of borrowing his tickets and invitations to dinners, concerts, 
&c., &c. To obtain these favors, many people will spend more time and 
trouble than would be necessary to earn twice the money the tickets 
would cost. But then, there is something indescribably fascinating in 
going free — it makes one for the moment, feel quite like an emperor — 
or an editor — which, we take it, is very much the same thing ! 

But the wives and daughter of these habitual diners-out — these watch- 
ers of other people's soup-ladles — must, of course, be horribly neglected. 
— poor things I Poor things, indeed ! If you had been in Broadway, 
yesterday afternoon, you might have seen a lady in a light-blue silk 
dress, covered with flounces which swept the unswept sidewalk, and a bon- 
net that cost forty dollars at Madame Lawson's. A sixty dollar embroider- 
ed crape shawl was pinned to the cotton breastworks that defend the c/ie- 
vauz defrize of her pointed shoulders — costly bracelets clasped her atte- 
nuated arms, and a diamond ring glittered oMsuU of her white kid glove. 



FIFTEEN MTNTJTES AROUND NEW YORK. 83 

By her sifle was a small copy of herself, with even a more gaudy bonnet, a 
brighU'r dress (except that it only came to the kneea,) and with a still 
more affected, bold and mincing gait than her mama. These were the 
wife and danght<;r of a prominent diner-out. The lady and daughter, 
after the fatigues of Jullien, the night before, had slept till ten, leaving 
papa and the breakfast to the tender mercies of an Irish cook, who, 
seeing the little respect in which the master of the house was held by 
its mistress, thought it was unnecessary to waste the nice fresh cutlets 
upon him, and so sent up the cold remains of yesterday's dinner, and ate 
the cutlets herself. These "high-flying" ladies had been shopping and 
exhibiting themselves (that's the word,) in Broadway all the morning, 
and were on their way to Taylor's, for a woodcock and sherry cobbler 
apiece. After these slight refreshments were discussed, they prome- 
naded a little longer in Broadway — and then went home to dress for the 
evening — assuring papa, when he came home to dinner, that they 
really had no appetite and shouldn't dine, but they dare say he would 
find something nice in the kitchen. And that was the last he saw or 
heard of thera until midnight — they both having gone to Ole Bull's con- 
cert with a young gentleman, a " friend of the family," who afterwards 
took them to Taylor's for an ice cream and more sherry cobblers. Can 
you wonder that the exemplary husband and father likes to dine out, 
and takes every opportunity he can to escape from home ? 

But the dinner hour is at last approaching. The guests begin to 
thicken, and cluster about in frequent knots and groups, approaching 
and repelling each other very much in the manner described by Swe- 
denborg as taking place in the spiritual world. These last five minutes 
of most intense expectation are devoted to that instinctive classification 
and arrangement of the guests among themselves, which always takes 
place among regular diners-out. 

And now the important monlent arrives. A dead pause, resembling 
the calm before the breaking out of the battle, pervades the drawing- 
room ! every hand, eye and tongue seems as if it had suddenly been 
arrested, 

"Aa by the stroke of the enchanter'a wand." 

An expression of intense expectation is transfixed on every face, and 
every eye points rigidly as a pointer's tail, to one certain door. The 
shining knob is evidently magnetised by the regards of so many 
powerful intellects concentrated upon it. It begins to move — it turns 
— the door opens — tke smiling face of the host appears — he advances ! 
" Gentlemen will you have the kindness to walk in to dinner?" 
Now begins the scramble — not the mere vulgar scramble for plates 
and places, which takes place at an "ordinary" dinner, where the only 
object is to get as near as possible to a great number of promising 
dishes, and to see that you have a small and feeble man on cither side 
of you, so that your arras and elbows may have full sway, without 
poking the ribs of anybody whose ire would be dangerous. The conten- 
tion on the present occasion is one of mock-modesty, every " distin- 
guished gentleman" present, of course wishing to make himself still more 
difltinguish£d, by ignoring the fact of his existence, and being with 



84 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK, 

diflSculty persuaded that he is anybody at all. In the melee, the adroit,, 
the courageous, the best assured, and frequently the least meritorious, 
manage to step into the best places, and to take the lead in everything 
that follows. For ourselves, content that we have at length found an 
obscure seat at the bottom of the table, we go to work minding our 
own business, and in no way interfering with -our neighbors. 



CHAPTER XXIV. . 

THE NEW Y@RK CUSTOM HOUSE. 

Have you a package of goods to be exhibited at the Crystal Palace, 
and can't you get them through the Custom House ? Let us go down 
and see about it. But 6rst, as you are in no particular hurry — foreign- 
ers are never in a hurry iu America — we will stop and take a look at 
things in this great white marble temple of customs and money-chan- 
gers. Of course, entering by the Pine street door, we stop to buy a 
peach of the immortally youthful Sarah, Mary, Catharine, or whatever 
her name may be, who, through every political storm, and every change 
of administration, always keeps her place and her complexion. No one ever 
dares think of removing her, she is as firm in her " place," as the clock 
of the Rotunda. Her cakes and peaches are always fresh — and so is the 
red of her cheeks. Slanderers have asserted that they are both renewed 
every day — but this we potently disbelieve. She is always making up' a 
gunny-bag into a petticoat, and the same gnnny-bag, the same smile, and 
the same cheeks, greet you day after day, year after year, and collector 
after collector. Administrations change — collectors, and deputies, and 
naval oBBcers, and inspectors, go out and come in, but she is always the 
Barae — her rouge and gunny-bag are perennial. 

In national politics, her position is with the North — being situated 
on the north side of the building — but she treats North and South alike, 
and has been even known to sell a rank woolly-head one of her best and 
freshest peaches. She is on familiar terras with all the celebrities, 
the magnates, the hangers-on, and lazzaroni, of the Custom House. 
She knows at a glance, whose salary has been mortgaged to his land- 
lady and washerwoman, and who has no salary at all — whose stomach 
glows with well-fed contentment, and whose heart is toru with wretch- 
edness and d'-'spair, waiting for official promises from within the sanctum 
Baottorum of the temple, made to be broken. Surely you can afford to 
buy a peach, to conciliate this gentle Cerberus ? — and besides, your pen- 
ny will be well spent, for the peaches are really delicious. 

Never mind the dark caves and dungeons below stairs, — they are all 
alike — nothing but stone walls, mahogany desks, smoky atmosphere, and 
a parcel of idle men lolling in arm chairs, talking politics, and smoking 
capital cigars, which have been presented to them as "samples" by 
shrewd importers, who know what you don't — how to get goods through 
the Custom House in a hurry. We will also leave, for the present, the 
long ranges of offices below and above, on either side of the hall we 
are traversing. They are .devoted to the silent, serious, business of 
book-keeping, in its hard-working and unostentatious forms. Elach 
apartment is appropriated to some distinct branch of the innumerable 



86 FIFTEEN MNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

entries, whicli form the immense, and probably more than half useless, 
machinery of modern importation. 

Let us pass into the Rotunda, through these double-jointed, smoothly- 
swinging doors, that open with the pressure of a finger, and close 
behind you like a severed wave. So far as convenience and comfort 
are concerned, the Custom House is certainly ahead of any other public 
establishment in the world. In winter it is kept at a constantly equal 
temperature, night and day, by innumerable pipes of hot water running 
all through the building. In summer it is as nearly ventilated as any 
building, in this age of foul air, is permitted to be. Our builders and 
house planners (they can scarcely be called architects) have made admi- 
rable provision in our houses for water, light, and warmth — but the ele- 
ment of fresh air has apparently altogether escaped their attention. 
What between the want of ventilation, and the absence of convenient 
means of egress, it is a perpetual wonder to us, how people get alive out 
of any of our public buildings. 

But this is en passant. So far as our observations go, people who 
once get into the Custom House don't seem in a hurry to get out — in 
fact, don't like to go out at all — the atmosphere evidently agrees with 
them ! In fact, they consider it quite a calamity when they are obliged 
to go out, now and then, to make room for new comers. 

It is now twelve o'clock, and the Custom House is in full activity in 
all its departments. The deputies and clerks do not arrive till ten, and 
from eleven to three is the busy season. Seated at their desks on a 
large platform, (probably composed of the fragments of the Buffalo, 
Syracuse, Baltimore, and other platforms, of which one hears so much 
and sees nothing,) are the four Deputy Collectors — the most conspicu- 
ous and important objects in the Rotunda. Each desk is garnished 
with its queue, reaching to tlae Wall street door, of thin, spicily-dressed, 
tobacco-chewing young clerks, mixed up with bluff sea captains and 
muscular mates — with here and there a perspiring old fogy, to give 
weight and character to the procession. The deputies perform mira- 
cles of despatch in reading (?) and signing manifests, certificates, bills 
of lading, and what not — administermg to each customer in turn, the 
following oath, in a hurry : 



" Ton solemnly swear 

............ .S'elp you Gkid !" 

Passing through the Rotunda, as if we were going to descend icito 
Wall street down the southern steps, (a thing which nobody, by any 
chance, ever does,) let us disappear through this tall doorway, which 
glides as noiselessly as all the others, and we shall find ourselves in the 
august presence of the Collector himself, who sits like a spider in his 
den, weaving his patient meshes, and ready to dart on any rash, iutnid- 
ing fly. He receives us with a frown, because the pesterings of the 
horde of office-seekers keep him in a continual ill-humor. As soon, how- 
ever, as he sees that we do not belong to that pestiferous class, his face 
instantly relaxes, and he points to a chair, with all the suavity of a 
finished gentleman. The Collector's Assistant, "Pious Mose," who 
pretends to an unusual degree of sanctimoniousness, is suspecte?! to be a 
sort of Olivier k Dain, who is not always so inaitiaculate as he would 



FIFTEEN MINUTES .AROUND NEW YORK. 87 

appear. However, no doubt he is quiLc as honest as the subordlaatoa 
ranged along the entry desks — who, though they knock off work punc- 
tually at 3 o'clock, still manage to take papers home with them, and 
despatch the lousiness of those who know how to extract from them 
these arduous extra services. 

Of the general divisions and departments of the Custom House, we 
shall speak very briefly, as everybody interested is supposed to know all 
about them. As yot^ enter from Pine street, on your-rigiit baud are 
the apai-tments of the Naval Office, and opposite, those of tlie Sob- 
Trea-sury, where, in a small, dark corner, stands Uncle Sam's safe, with 
some six or eight millions of gold. Up stairs, over the Naval Office, is 
the Auditor's Office, and opposite, that of the Surveyor — our beloved 
shoft-shelled friend and old Oswego acquaintance, John Cochrane — at 
one of whose desks sits perched our handsome whilom editorial brother, 
Spencer Cone — now an inverted c«ne, subserving the purpo.se of bal- 
ancing a set of books for the people, instead of writing tlicm. 

Down stairs, in tlie dungeons we spoke of, arc the weighers, guagers, 
and measurers — a set of the most harmless and intense old fogies ia 
existence. Many of them have occupied prominent and influential 
positions in the community, and, having become unfortunate, have 
accepted a situation here, as' a sort of Chiltern Hundreds. Yonder is 
a:« old gentleman, formerly capitalist of the firm of Joseph & Co., which 
made such a tremendous smash-up some years ago. He looks calm and 
contented — smokes his pipe in peace, and no doubt is far happier than 
he ever was in the hey-day of his prosperity. The failure of his house 
was as sudden as an Italian thunder-storm. He had just purchased a 
pair of magnificent carriage-horses for $1500, which were driven to the 
door in the morning for the first time — in the evening of the same day 
he was a bankrupt for millions. He now ha& become a permanent 
inmate of that asylum for the destitute — the Custom House. 

We said nobody ever passed down the southern steps. This is 
almost literally true. Americans are the chariest people in the world, 
of their steps ; and every man who has to visit the Custom House, 
manages to take it on his return from the Post Office, so as to enter ia 
Pine street, level with the ground. Thus the south steps would be 
comparatively unappropriated, were it not for the kindness of those 
peripatetic dealers in puppies and carving-knives, toothache drops and 
Shanghai fowls, who make it their general rendezvous and point of 
departure, and whose incongruous collection of wares and merchandize 
form one of the most characteristic features of the street. 

We will not leave the Custom House without whispering a word of 
advice to strangers and out-siders, who wish to hate their business here 
transacted expeditiously — employ a Custom House broker. He will 
charge you only two dollars for the job — and may save you several 
valuable days. 



CHAPTER XXY. 

A FASHIONABLE QAMBLINa HOUSE— AN HOUR AT PAT HEARN'S. 



Nothing in New York undergoes more marked and charactesistic 
changes, at the different seasons of the year, than the gambling-houses. 
The summer is their dull season. The regular sporting men, from whom 
the most substantial portion of their custom is drawn, have gone to the 
Springs, or to Newport, to practice upon the pockets and passions of 
the green and ennuyees sojourners there. People who have nothing to 
employ themselves with but their wives and bathing dresses, are glad of 
anything to distract their attention, or keep them alive. Saratoga, 
Newport, the Blue Sulphur, &c., &g., are the harvest-fields of the gam- 
blers. In the early part of summer, one by one drops off and is missed 
from his accustomed haunts, until the fashionable gambling saloons are 
deserted, and the billiard rooms and coffee houses, where they are wont 
to spend their mornings, see them no more. By a kind of tacit under- 
standing, the ground is laid out amongst them, so that they shall not 
cross each other too frequently, nor appear in too large bodies. Certain 
places become the hereditary possession,''as it were, of certain paries — 
like the Pigeon Roost, adjoining the United States Hotel, at Saratoga, 

where, year after year, the J ses of Albany, Lord G e G n, 

and their set, regularly spent the mornings in fleecing such strangers as 
could be roped in, or in case of no outside victims, in plucking one 
another. At dinner, and in the evening, they condescend to appear, 
and were of course (as all scapegraces, libertines, villians and well-dressed 
vagabonds universally are,) lionized by the ladies, and took the lead in 
all the sports and amusements of the ultra fashionable and ultra moral 
people, who take the Tribune, and refuse to go to a theatre, for fear of 
moral contamination. After the suppers, dancing and flirtations of the 
drawing-rooms were over, and the ladies had retired to their virtuous 
couches, ("very ricketty and bed-buggy little wooden bedsteads,) our 
young gentlemen resumed the regular occupation of their lives, and cut 
and shuffled, and passed buttons, till late into the night. 

Meanwhile, the establishments in town were deserted. At last the 
principals themselves left, confiding the small, shabby, summer business 
to some trusted dealer or silent partner, who suddenly made his appear- 
ance from Philadelphia or some other out-of-the-way-place. 

Thus, in summer, the fashionable gambling houses are not particularly 
interesting. Pat Hearn, who is the most gentlemanly man that ever 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. '89 

drank cbampagnc or cut a pack, spent the summer at the Springs, of 
course ; and '" Clove" and his assistants, alter loungnig al)Out all day, 
would gather round the tables in the spacious drawing-room-s in Broad- 
way, wliere the tigi-r lay as docile as a laml) — the splendid feed, now 
greatly reduced from its magnificent winter proportions, standing almost 
untouched and the bright and mischievous champagne devil pining in- 
gloriously in his bottle. Now and then a solitary straggler would find 
his way in, but, seeing how dreary and melancholy everything ap])cared, 
(for there is no Peter-Funking in a first-class establishment like Pat's,) 
would take a drop of brandy and water, and retire. Frequently, for 
nights in succession during the summer, the cards are not dealt ; and 
when they are, it is some " picayune game," at which everybody turns 
np his nose, except the greenhorn, who thinks he is making a grand 
" splurge" by losing five dollars' worth of buttons, and goes off feeling 
quite grand at having come the fashionable swell so loud. " Cleve" sits 
in tbe back parlor, lolling back in a rocking-chair smoking a choice 
segar, and poking his feet threugh the thick vines that clunb about the 
window. 

But this season of inactivity is now about closing. The summer of 
metropolitan life has set in — and nowhere are its effects more percep- 
tible than in the fashionable gambling-house. The fast young men, who 
spend papa's money as magnificently as if it had not been made by sell- 
ing sausages or speculating in slops, are again showing their miraculous 
trowsers and their still more miraculous legs, in Broadway. The nights 
are getting cool and pleasant, and the days not too long. Oysters are 
in their glory, and woodcock and other still more dainty game can be 

" had " for money. Madame has opened her fall fripperies from 

France, and all the pe^ny-a-liners out of situation, are making arrange- 
ments to start new papers which shall give the world an idea of what 
a journal should be. Let us call, therefore, with the rest of the fashion- 
able world, and pay our respects to the most respectable of gamblers, 
Pat Hearn. He was once refused admission to a quasi theatre — where, 
from the want of a third tier, virtuous women and their children are 
turned in side by side with the fancy women, rakes and bloods of the 
town, and listen, well pleased, to balderdash which would inexpressibly 
shock them if proceeding from the stage of a " regular" theatre. 

We ring, and the door is opened by a well-bred, well-dressed negro, who 
politely inquires our business. Seeing you in company, however, with 
a person he knows, he invites you to wart in. Had you been alone, 
and a stranger, he would have called out the master of the house, who 
would have inspected you, and, of course, admitted you, as you carry 

fentleman upon your face. We deposit our hats and canes in the hall, 
a regulation not, however, strictly insisted on,) and enter the front 
drawing-room, where a supper table, covered with very handsome dishes 
and bountifully supplied with crystal, stands always ready. It is still 
early, and the habitues of the house have not come in from the theatre, 
billiard-rooms, bar-rooms, oyster cellars, &c., kc, where they have been 
picking up recruit.s. After being introduced to the proprietor, he invites 
jou to take some supper, and upon your declining, presses you to at least 
dx) hiin the honor of taking a glass of wine with hun, and hopes that 



90 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

you will fiud your appetite later in the evening. A gesture brings the 
faithful and silent waiter, who understands everything by a look from 
the master of the house, which says : " Here are a couple of gentlemen 
whom I wish to treat with especial civility. Bring a bottle of the very 
best champagne, and plenty of ice." 

" No ice for me, if you please." 

" Oh, you don't take ice ? You are not an American. Wc consume 
all iceberg a minute in New York. Monsieur est Fran9ais, heureuse- 
ment ?" 

" Non, monsieur, mais, j'ai appris a boire la." 

" You are quite right. The habit of dropping great chunks of ice 
feito wine is an infatuation — it destroys the flavor, and converts the 
choicest nectar into slops." 

" Sir, you are a philosopher." 

"I have learned how to live — as to dying, we arrive there without 
educating ourselves for it. But will you walk into the other room ?" 

By this time the company begins to collect, and the faro table is set. 
The game in its mere mechanical details, has been too often described 
for me to describe it, (as Shelly doubtless would have written). Every- 
thing goes on with the greatest order and quiet. The old gentleman 
with his miniature table and remembering machine before him, watches 
the game closely, without moving a muscle or changing a hue, while 
the players and lookers-on eagerly watch him and make their calcula- 
tions. To the uninitiated nothing is so blind a riddle as even the sim- 
plest game of chance. The most intelligent man in the world might 
watch the game of faro for ten years, and, without an explanation, 
would know nothing whatever about it. He would see a man seated, 
at one end of a long table upon which a whole pack of cards were fas- 
tened, each by its back to the cloth, very busy in taking other cards out 
of a tin soda-powder box and carefully laying them down in two neat 
piles beside his box. By his side sits a man, with large piles of red and 
white ivory buttons before him, which he sells to the people standing 
about the table, at very dear rates — a dollar a piece for the white ones, 
and five dollars for the red. These buttons are distributed about on 
various cards, by the button-holders ; and at every second card he lays 
down, the dealer gathers them up from some parts of the tabK and adds 
them to those at his side — while in other places he lays down from bis 
own pile as many as the play^ had put down. It must be remembered 
that, as a general thing, he takes up much oftener than he puts down, — 
and that, if you watch closely, you will see a regular stream of bank 
bills passing up to the man at his side, while his piles of buttons con- 
stantly grow smaller, but never get exhausted, — for they all eventually 
come back to him, and he sells them over again to those maddest of all 
madmen, each of whom, knowing that the chances are infallibly such as 
to rian him, yet thinks that he alone, of all the world, has discovered 
a process for cheating the laws of numbers, and giving mathematics 
the lie. 

Scenes of intense interest and excitement perpetually occur here. 
The gambling-house is the cockpit of the passions, where the fight goes 
on perpetually for victory or death. Gambling is the moats serious 



FIFTEEN MINQTES AROUND NEW YORK. 91 

and absorbinp^ of all exclLemenlg ; and for those who are blase of the 
world, and have the courage to commit suicide, we should recommend 
it as a roguhir occupation. Every man who has duties he would per- 
form, obligations he would fulfil, affections he wonld indu1<:;n, or loved 
ones he would make happy, should shun the gambling-liouso as he 
would the path that leads to moraJ, social, and spiritual boll. 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



JULLIEN AT CASTLE GARDEN. 

Our musical experiencea would not be complete without a visit to 
Jullien. He was only in his glory at Castle Garden — the atmosphere 
of Metropolitan Hall did not agree with him. But, at Castle Garden, 
he was a veritable enchanter. Have you ever witnessed one of those 
wondrous, incomprehensible, holiday spectacles, where a handsome 
fairy appears, amid beautiful nymphs springing out of a fountain, who 
sends the hero of the piece scampering through the world in search of 
some magic rose, or harp, or sword, as the case may be — seen them 
brought at last into some horrid, dingy cave, with heavy chains and 
noisome, damp-eaten walls ? Have you not then wondered how they 
were to get out, and how the magic article in demand is to be found — 
when, suddenly, the aforesaid fairy, entering bang through the solid 
wall, makes a speech, joins the lovers, and displays the talisman ; then, 
with a wave of the star-tipped wj^ad, the old cave vanishes up through 
the ceiling, down through the traps — every way it vanishes — and in its 
place stands the palace, (of happiness, or fame, or immortality, or what- 
ever the case may be,) all flowers, and gauze, and gilding, and light, 
and precious stones ? Well, so it was with Castle Garden ! 

Dirty old Castle Garden — who could have known you ? The magic 
"baton of the great Jullien had transmogrified you completely. In white 
and gold shone your walls ; your columns, wreathed in flowers, gar- 
lands round your galleries, and banners waving from your ceiling ; tro- 
phies of arms surrounded by waving gossamer draperies, relieved the 
monotony of the floral devices ; and in the Orchestra, enlarged down to 
those first columiis that always came between you and Salvi, or Sontag, 
or Steffanone, in their grandest moment, now rose the throne of the 
giver of the feast — a throne, a perfect throne, a crimson and gold arm- 
chair, on a crimson and gold carpet, and before it a golden music stand. 
An Orchestra so good that a mere common chord, given by its full and 
complete band, is delicious ; then solos of various instruments, from 
artists sufficient each in himself to draw a crowd, and a conductor such 
as there never was, will be, or is. This is what is to be seen and heard 
at our renovated abode of sweet sounds. 

Jullien was wonderful. The living programme of each forthcoming 
bar, he stood aloft in that vast expanse of shirt and that creaseless bow 
of a cravat, acting out in gestures the sentimental, the heroic, the intri- 
cate and the tripping measures of the orchestra above, beneath, around. 

A pianissimo shriveled him all up into nothing — whilst a fortissimo 
stretched and expanded him into a giant. The roll of the drums lifted 
him off his feet ; and the trumpets wafted him to the skies. Conduct- 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 93* 

ing is his vocation ; he conducts as if he played each individual instru- 
ment ; and so does he love conducting;, that even when subsided into 
his arm-ciiair, while Bottesini and Reichert were playing their solos to 
the hushed and wrapped audience, he did a sly little bit of conducting 
all to himself, l>chind their backs — beating, waving, wriggling, that 
immortal baton which never was so waved before. 

Comparatively, we like not the real, classical, expressive music by this 
orchestra. It is like a bad translation — it gives the outline of the story, 
but none of the Jinesse of language or detail. But the dancing music is 
beyond all praise. In fact, Jullien will do. He is the man for the 
masses ; and when taking from its hiding-place the diamond-headed, 
baton given him by his friends, he commanded his army to play Hail 
Columbia and Yankee Doodle, he forever ensconced himself in the 
hearts of the pul)lic. Jullien has developed musical taste — that is, a 
taste for musical sounds — in England, which will lead in time to au 
appreciation of a higher class of music. His concerts are one of the most 
rational, agreeable, and delightful of pastimes, and will probably require 
no puffing, to be fully successful. Then the really great artists whoso 
genius stands out from this musical back-ground, give an intense inte- 
rest which will draw educated musicians to his Concerts. 

Reichert is the ideal of flute-playing — soft, clear, brilliant, teeming 
with intricate difficulties, yet never boisterous, but ever even, like the 
flow of some gentle brook. Bottesini, who was welcomed as an old 
favorite, with cheers and waving of handerchiefs, is what we all remem- 
ber him. He seemed to draw, from within that large monster he han- 
dles so delicately, the very essence of Alboni's voice. Now that we 
hear Bottesini again, we remember that it was of his heart-searching, 
thrilling sounds, that matchless voice so often reminded us. 

Mad'lle Anna Zerr — a piain, thin, ungraceful German, not over- 
young — has given us little but her far-famed song from the " Flauta 
Magico," doing no end of E's in altissimo. With a wiry voice and 
numerous grimaces, her singing is like the perpetual tuning of the last 
half-octave of those monstrous seven and a half octave pianos. Those 
who like that operation, will like Anna Zerr's singing — none else. 



^ 



©HAPTER XXVII. 



PLEASURES OP HOTEL LIPE. 

An acqaaintance of ours, from Mississippi — a prosperous planter, 
sorrounded, when at home, with everything to make him comfortable 
suad contented — has been for some weeks, with his daughter, sojourning 
in New York, for the purpose of seeing a little of life in the metropolis, 
and laying in a stock of souvenirs for the winter. Of course they could 
live nowhere but at a fashionable Broadway hotel, and so there they 
are. A glance at the way they live will furnish a striking and not 
uninstructive illustration of the extravagant intconveniences to which our 
hotel life subjects its victims. 

The gentleman himself has no room at all — he sleeps in his clothes, 
on a mattress laid down in one of the parlors, and washes, shaves and 
dresses where and how he can. If he happens to be in time for the 
grand rush at dinner, he perhaps gets something to eat — and perhaps . 
he don't. At all events, he spends a dollar or two a day for edibles, 
&c., down town. The young lady has no room to herself, but occupies 
a room in common with two other ladies, and of course must find the 
scramble far more inconvenient than does her father. For these accom- 
modations, however, our friend pays five dollars a day, without " extras," 
which count up pretty fast, I can tell you. Some hundred customers 
of this same hotel, after recording their names in the register lying on 
the marble counter of the office, and taking a look round the elegantly 
furnished apartments, are sent off to bedrooms and closets in private 
houses " over the way," where servants attend them " over the left," and 
where a perpetual bell-concert is going on, to no purpose, and in compari- 
son with which the Swiss bell-ringers were a total failure. These unfortu- 
nate convicts may rave and rail in their cells as much as they like — 
nobody hears or heeds them ; and when they make their escape from 
; their twenty shillings a day lodgings, they must dive into a barber^s 
shop to be shaved, and into an oyster cellar to get breakfast. 

Two other friends of ours, stopping at another "first class hotel," 
have slept in their chairs every night during the present week, and look 
as if they had just arrived from Australia. We were so unfortunate as 
to be invited to dine with one of them, a« day or two ago. The hour 
was five — and of course the slow-creeping omnibus, which never got full, 
although our knees ached with the weight of the plump young lady who 
did us the honor to ride on our lap, deposited us at the door ten min- 
utes behind time. Our friend was looking out of the window, and we 



FIFTEEN MNUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 95 

saw in an instant that soractliing doleful had happened. Prepared for 
the worst, we entered tlie bar-room, with sad misgivings. 

" What made you so late ?" inquired our friend, with a dismal attempt 
at concealing the anxiety which was devouring him. 

" Oh, the confounded omnibuses ! — they're always behind-hand. But 
no matter — we shall do well enough." 

" Yes, but — you see — the fact is — that — there are no seats at the table, 
and — we must wait till somebotly is done." 

This was pleasant for a man who was to dine at five, make six calls 
between dinner and seven o'clock, and be in time for the opera ! 
However, we talked* politics, settled Mr. Marcy, and annihilated John 
Van Burcn, and wound up with a drop of Stoughton bitters, ("just to give 
us an appetite," as our friend unfeelingly remarked,) and were at length 
ushered into tlie dining-room, where a lady in starched undersleeves was 
washing grapes in her finger-glass — and took our seats. The waiters, 
however, who had been, during the early part of the dinner, rehearsing 
the battle of Marathon — using the dish-covers for shields — were now 
engaged in assisting at the revolution in China, which precedes the pud- 
ding. It was, therefore, some time before they condescended to take 
any notice of the outside barbarians who had dared to interfere with 
the regular routine of their amusements. Finally, a sentimental gentle- 
man in love, with a tie to which he had evidently given his whole mind, 
condescended to stoop daintily between our heads and listen to our 
confessions of hunger. The seup was out — the fish had followed its 
example — chickens, ducks and pigeons had disappeared — and the turkey 
question had been settled and laid away on the sideboard, no longer 
furnishing even a bone of contention. The only viands remaining were 
a piece of cold roast mutton, with a dish half filled with coagulated 
blood, and a plate of cold boiled onions. The ladies had stripped the 
table of fruit, cakes, &c., carrying away for private mastication in their 
rooms, what they did not eat at table — and altogether the dinner 
resulted in our friend proposing an adjournment to a restaurant, whore 
we dined sumptuously ofi" a dirty table-cloth and fat woodcock. 
I Now, there isn't a syllable of exaggeration in these instances we have 
quoted, and they are a fair sample of the overcrowded phase of fashion- 
able hotel life in New York. Strangers may console themselves, how- 
ever, with the reflection that there are half a dozen new hotels going 
up, and that in a few years longer, the whole movement of life and 
society in New York will be turned out of doors and go on upon the 
sidewalk. 



CHAPTER XXVIIl. 



LIFE ON A KAILROAD— SCENES IN THE TUNNEL, 

All the railroad tunnels in this country are dark — dark as Erebus — 
dark as a pocket in a shirt — dark as an alderman's character — dark 
as pitch — dark as anything, in short, that is the antithesis of light. la 
France, where the people are so immoral that the government wouldn't 
dare to leave them together in a rail-car going through a dark tunnel, 
all the tunnels are lighted, by lamps hung at the sides of these modera 
Cyclopean caverns, and which flash their tell-tale rays through the car 
windows, so that it is impossible to get so much as a squeeze of the 
hand, clandestinely, from your vis-a-vis, or your companion, even while 
going through the longest tunnel. 

We are afraid we are getting as immdral as the naughty French 
people — and our pious and incorruptible rulers will soon have to adopt 
similar precautions to those in the JFrench tunnels, if they would not 
have our young gentlemen and young ladies who come down from 
Harlem in the morning trains, to be as bad as — themselves. We have 
recently witnessed — or rather heard — some curious illustrations of this 
fact, which, if we could reproduce them here, exactly as they came to 
our ears, would make Mrs. Partington, and the worthy tea-party of 
whom .that venerable lady is the venerated head, jump out of their skins 
with horror. A single instance we will attempt to describe. 

Two young gentlemen, bound down town to their emplo3'^ers' counting- 
houses, enter the cars at Harlem, or Mott Haven, or Morrisiana, or no 
matter where, simultaneously witli two young ladies of "sweet sixteen," 

satchel and portfolio in hand, on their way to Madame 's celebrate'! 

young-lady-tinishing establishment, in^ Place. After the "customary 

greetings" (as James said in his celebrated novel of the " Two Horso- 
men"), the young gents, select two seats and turn them face to face. 
The young ladies, with a giggle, intended doubtless as an apology for 
not blushing, seat themselves side by side, with the gentlemen opposite 
— after a great deal of very laughable trouble in getting the ki)ees of 
the whole party fairly dove-tailed together, and every thing comfortably 
arranged. Then commences a course of loud conversation and boister- 
ous laughter, which draws uppn them the attention of all in the car. 
Prudent mamas scowl and purse their lips ; papas shrug their shoul- 
ders, as much as to say, " thank heaven, they are not mine!" and bache- 
lors of all ages open their eyes, nurse their whiskere, and nudge their 
neighbors with a chuckle. By-and-by, however, everybody subsides 
again to his newspaper, and our quartette goes on, crescendo, in noise 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 97 

and langhter. At last here comes the tunnel. " Here we are !" says 
blue eyes, with a giggle and a very faint imitation of a scream. "'Now, 
Jim," laughs black eyes, " none of your tricks as yon did yesterday. 
ITierc's sky-lights in this tUBnel." It now gets very dark ; and, as nei- 
ther of the young gentlemen says a word, we have no means of knowing 
what is going on. Presently one of the young ladies — we tliink, i)y tlie 
Toiee, it is our blue-cyed blonde — gives a little squeal and a giggle — one 
of the "sky-lights suddenly lets in a ray of light, and "Jim" starts 
bolt upright and throws hiiuscif against the back of his seat, looking 
Tery red, and holding his hat in one hand. ^Now we arc in utter dark- 
ness again — good gracious ! what is that? Is one of the axles break- 
ing, or have we run on a snake-head ? Svwyeechxcocppe ! What a 
coaclnssion I And here we are in the light again — and black eyes, 
who had never said a word, is pulling on her bonnet, which seems to 
have half fallen off in the dark — and blue eyes seems desperately bent 
upon conjugating that ugly French verb (perhaps it is s'emlrasscr — who 
knows ?) before she arrives at school. The young gents both look as 
if they couldn't help it 1 

Therefore, oh I city fathers, put some lights in the railroad tunnels, as 
they do in France. If we must import our morality, let us also import 
some of its conyeniaaces and its safegards. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE DOWN TOWN EATING-HOUSE. 

' It Ls half-past twelve, and I must be in Wall street at one. We 
shall have no time to dine." 

" No time to dine ? Absurd. Come with me, and I'll show you 
where you can dine sumptuously in a quarter of an hour, and for a 
quarter of a dollar, if y©u like. It is just high-tide at the down-towa 
eating-houses." 

We enter with a rush. You would think there was a political meet- 
ing going on ; but it is something of »ven more importance than politics. 
The moment we leave the atmosphere of the street, we encounter a hot, 
moist current, composed of an infinity of rank smells, over which that 
of burnt grease decidedly predominates. Musty lemons, fried fish, onion 
steaks, and the contents of the slop-tub under the bar, contribute to 
enrich the preliminary repast of the nose, if they do not have the eflFect 
of increasing the appetite. However, we have no time to waste in a 
useless analysis of smells. Besides, if you complain of them here, what 
do you think of the poor people in the kitchen below stairs, where they 
make them ? What shall we have for dinner ? 

We move on from table t® table, looking for a table cloth that doesn't 
look as if it had done duty in a surgeon's dissecting room. No use — 
they are getting worse and worse. Stand not upon the order of your 
eating, but eat at once. Tlie castor is lame of a leg, and is troubled 
with such a stiffness in the neck that it can't tutn round. No matter — 
there is nothing in it, as the man says in the play. The pepper has 
sneezed itself out — the mustard isn't on muster — the vinegar has evap- 
orated, and you catch up the ketchup bottle in vain. Here's a bill of 
fare : it looks like a scrap of old newspaper in which a schoolboy had 
wrapped up his dinner. But read fast — the waiter has stood glowering 
dai'kly at us for some minutes, and will be off, if we don't hurry. 

" Foa-soup ? Very well. Bring ul two plates of pea-soup." 

" P-soup all gone, sir." 

"Well — never mind the soup — bring us some boiled salmon." 

" Ain't got'ny, sir." 

" Wliy, here it is on the bill." 

" Must'a fgot to scratch'tout, sir." 

" Well, what have you got ?" 

" Ros'beef-ros'mutt'n-ros'pork-and-applesauce, sir." 

" Well — bring us some of it, if you please I" 

"Which?" 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. ,99 

" Anything at all — only be in a hurry." 

The knives have not lately been seoured, and are but loosely inserted 
in black horn handles — so th.at yon are obliged to hold fast by the blade. 
The fork consists of two very rnsty iron prongs, inserted in a similar sort 
of liujidic — so that the only chance you have of making any use of it, ia 
to stick it into something. As to the ordinary purpose of carrying food 
to the mouth, it is quite useless. , 

But that is by no means the ordinary purpose of a fork in this place — 
as you can easily satisfy yourself by watching the operations of those 
around. Every man grasps his knife tightly by the middle of the blade 
inserts the point, shovel wise, under the moss of beef, potatoes, gravy 
and tomato-sauce with which his plate is garnished, heaps it up with his 
fork, and so carries the shovel-full to his mouth, wiping the weapon clean 
with his lips as he withdraws it. That's the way to eat fast and dine 
cheap ! Isn't it nice, dainty reader ? 

While we are waiting for whatever the good feeling of the waiter, or 
the voracity of the sovereign people, (who dine in state for eighteen 
|>ence,) may have left us, we have two minutes to look about us. There, 
at the table opposite, is Mr. Winkeu, the celebrated lawyer of Nassau 
street. He has been brow-beating a witness all the morning, and has 
only slipped off for a minute to get a snack, while the court is deciding 
a knotty ))oint as to the admissibility of evidence. The operations of 
his vast niinil have not been disturbed by the interruption. He bullies 
the bread-i)late, cross-questions the castor, and looks at the poor dumb- 
waiter with that peculiar withering glance, which, in the Court, 

usually portends a commitment for contempt of court. His cut of beef 
is clearly a tough subject, and after examining it in every possible point 
of view, he is evidently about abandoning it as a bad job. He scru- 
tinizes the white overcoat button which the waiter has laid by his plate, 
as if it were an affidavit — a counter-affidavit, if you will allow us the 
pun — from the opposite party. He calls abstractedly for dumpling, and 
seems to consider it a fair excuse for non-payment of the previous bill, 
when the waiter tells hira it is " out." Having his attention fully 
aroused, by a look at the clock, he seizes his hat, heavy with papers, 
which he always carries there as a specimen brick of his gigantic pro- 
fessional duties, rushes off, settles his little bill of costs by giving a 
shilling and a five cent piece instead of eighteen pence, and so escapes 
into the street. 

Here is a philanthropist on your left, who professes never to eat meat. 
He has already despatclied half a chicken, and is now putting into a 
cut of roast pork, as if it were the argument of an adversary. He 
looks leprous and scrofulous. He has been overworked all his life — his 
brain has been developed like a hot-hou.se cauliflower or a goose's liver 
— while all the rest of his nature, except the mere mental faculties, is 
as un(ievel()pdl and fruitless as the iwtato-vines that sprout in the cellar 
and never see the light. Me goes days without taking the necessary 
sustenance ; and then, dfiven by blind animal instinct into the first 
place where his nose leads him, he gorges upon whatever is set before 
him, in a sort of hungry insanity. Tiie effect of such madness is writ- 
ten in his idiotic face, hia boil-eucumbcred body, his vacant eye and pre- 



loo FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK 

nuatnrely wrinkled face — the face of a child grown suddenly sixty. He 
is the victim of the most melancholy and hopeless kind of dissipation — 
and yet he denounces in terms of frenzy, every man who drinks a glass 
of wine, or sells it to his neighbor. He will not eat again for some 
days ; and no wonder. He has entrenched himself behind a hecatomb 
of bones. 

Do you see that paralytic, Jewish-looking man behind us ? That is 
one of the mysterious characters who insert those tempting advertisements 
in the Herald, addressed to all who want money, and offering to make 
the most liberal advances upon every species of personal property. Yon 
are hard up : you want money. You take your watch to our friend. 
It cost you a hundred dollars : he will buy it for twenty, or lend you 
fifteen on its security. As a general thing, these private establishments 
are much less liberal than the regular pawnbrokers — and then these fel- 
lows may, at any time, run ofF with your property, and you have no 
redress. Our friend here, who began business with a hundred and fifty 
dollars, two yeare ago, is already a capitalist. His victims are broken- 
down gamblers, extravagant clerks, unfortunate landladies, foreigners 
■who come to America to make their fortunes, and sell their clothes to 
get home again — returned Californians, out and injured by the climate 
and other causes, — and last, but by no means least, a certain class of 
women, who, rich to-day in jewels and rings, strip them oif to-morrow, 
for a few dollars to gratify a lover or a caprice. They seldom reclaim 
them — and so our conscientious friend sees his store increase, and his 
bank account grow plethoric. 

But wlio is that grave, thoughtful-looking man in black whiskers and 

green spectacles ? That is Dr. , a well-known sporting man. He 

is an excellent fellow — has a generous nature, and is generlly esteemed 
strictly houonible : knave, of course, is his profession. Nor does he 
actually dieat even in that. It is not by cheating that gamblers make 
their money, so much as by playing upon the passions of their victims. 
Whatever chances are in the game, the gambler has cooly studied, 
and provided against : it is his business. But the casual player gets 
excited with his losses — mad and furious, if they continue ; he cannot 
afford to lose ; he must make it up \ And bo he plays on, and is 
ruined. In every ordinary relation of life, our friend in the spectacles 
is as fair, correct, and liberal a man as you can find. He pays his debts ; 
is always ready to help a friend, and is, as you see, very quiet and gen- 
tlemanly. Tlie " tiger" has sheathed his claws, but don't come too near 
the cage — there's no knowning what might happen I 

Here conies our dinner : a slice of pale-looking beef drowned in 
watery gravy, flanked by a dab of mashed potatoes, mingled with a 
suspifioii of dtto turnips, and a couple of thin outside slices of yester- 
days bread. Well, never mind, we havn't time to linger, or quarrel 
with our fare. This is the way in which the business world of New 
York daily dines — and it manages, you see, soraehow to ssbsist. True, 
there are various grades of eating-houses — from Delraonico's, where 
you pay two or three dollars for an ordinary meal, to Sweeay's, where 
the last commodity (at least so far as the words go) is served up for 
sixpence a plate. But we cut into the first one we encountered and it 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 101 

may be considered a fair sample of a very large cla«3 of these public 
conveniences. Doubtlass, tiiey greatly facilitate the transaction of 
business, and save an immense amount of time. But it may be seriously 
questioned whether the men who frequent them do not find all this time 
taken, in one big slicp, from the latter end of their lives ; or wjiethtr 
any mere momentary convenience can compensate for the dyspepsia, ill 
health, and general degeneracy of the race, consequent upon iliLs ter- 
rible system of gobbling down unchewed and unwholeaomc food. 



I CHAPTER XXX. 

A WALK THROUGH GREENWOOD. 

Stop the omnibus — why doesn't he stop ? He goes slowly enough, 
blocking up the way, and keeping back all that long row of carriages. 
Stop, I say I 

Oh, that is not an omnibus — it is the hearse, death's omnibus, which 
takes but one passenger at a time, and gives him a transfer ticket, free 
of charge, to old Charon's ferry, where he must pay his obelus for being- 
carried to the land of shadows. And the carriages — they contain the 
mourners, at least the conventional mourners, who do duty as such, and 
follow on, with what sadness they may, after the corpse of him, who, in 
life, was perhaps indifferent to them. 

, But here comes, at last, a real live omnibus, in which, for a sixpence, 
we may take a premature trip to Greenwood, and come back alive, and 
safe and sound. The ride is a long and dreary one, embellished with 
clouds of dust, that sift through whisker and moustache, and penetrate 
to the very brain. The prospect, on arriving, is not much improved — • 
a sandbank, crowned with a dilapidated shanty, in which the cock- 
roaches evidently have taken possession of the " Ladies' Refreshment 
Saloon," is surrounded by a cordon of cabs and carriages, with a class 
of drivers of a pecuhar type. They are, for the most part, native Long 
Islanders, shrewd and intelligent, but with the sentiment entirely 
bleached out of them, and who only feel an interest in the price of the 
ride which they expect to get out of you. 

But we won't ride : we will avail ourselves of this calm, clear, beau- 
tiful afternoon, and take a much needed stroll through these wild and 
beautiful grounds — this garden of the dead, where nature opens her arms 
smilingly to receive back the weary wanderer, who comes to take his 
long, long sleep upon her kindly bosom. We city pent and dust- 
encrusted cits, whose lives are bounded by shop and parlor, and whose 
higher thoughts and aspirations are smothered by the dull atraospliere 
of routine, trade and traffic, need these occasional rc/axations, these 
now-and-then breathings of the free air of heaven, even thougli it sweep 
over graves, to keep our hearts from becoming as callous and drj, and 
unfeeling, as the bones over which we tread. A walk in Grecnwoo:! is 
to us the realization of the old and ever true fable of Anteus, who 
received new strength from the touch of his mother earth. 

We enter at the stiff and narrow gateway, so awkwardly arranged 
that it would seem as if they begrudged to the silent applicants ad- 
mission to their grim domains 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 103 

Grim domains, indeed ! Who ever saw anytliing more smiling and 
lovely than the fair landscape that begins to open and unfold around 
us? 

Truly, the dead inhabit a most pleasant city, lying thus embraced with 
waters, the eternal sea raurc-iuring at its very walk, and its winding 
streets lined with trees and roses. What a contrast to the senseless 
scramble of the living town ! Here all is so still, so lovely, so serene — 
like a feverish, reckless and discontented life, glorified into the peace 
and beauty of eterHity. Still, even these quiet shades whisper of a still 
greater change, and tell that this is not the final resting-place for those 
immortal beings whose bodies crumble here. Every tree Ls changing its 
colors, and the rich, deep green of summer maturity merges into a con- 
fused spectrum of diseased tints, that foretell the annual dissolution and 
resurrection of these children of the forest. The rose-vines and clematis, 
creeping lovingly among the graves, and twining their way from monu- 
ment to monument, have grown brown and withered at their vigils — 
and the turf upon the breast of each sleeping loved one is dry and sere. 
The perfume that but late led myriads of bees singing their drowsy song, 
from mound to mound of this Hymettus of the dead, notiore loads the 
air. The winds that come up from the ocean, or sweep over from the 
land, are keen and biting ; and, although the sun is bright aud the blue 
eky bends over with its eternal arch of promise, and looks as with au 
eye of love into our hearts, yet the chillncss strikes through bone aud 
muscle, aHd we wrap our garments closer about us, and hurry on with 
quickened pace. 

We arc not here to make a catalogue of ostentatious monuments, or 
to speculate upon the lives and histories of the sleepers beneath. But 
we cannot refrain lingering a moment at the Old Public Lot, before the 
humble grave of Bannister, the dramatic writer, once so well known in 
the reckless circle of the Green Room, now wholly forgotten there, ag 
elsewhere. He was not a man of exalted talent, yet he i)Ossessed the 
genius of pleasing the popular taste. His melo-dramas and spectacles 
enriched those who owned them, and made permanent fame for those 
who acted them. He himself, however, with that helplessness which 
seems to exude from the inkstand, was always terribly in want, and 
obliged to submit to any exactions which were imposed upon him — only 
too glad, for a few miserable dollars in hand, to give up that which, 
properly managed, would have helped to produce a certain and sufficient 
income. He lived in want, and died almost in starvation. A large 
stone covers his grave, containing his name, and the quotation from 
Hamlet, "There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow," &c. 
A tear and a sigh is the least tribute that even the stranger can pay as 
he lingers by the grave of N. H. Bannister. 

Here, too, is the only peaceful resting-place of poor Bcngough, once 
an»artist of repute, but who died in wretched and unmitigated misery. 
He was, in his best days, a lively, companionable and gay-hearted crea- 
ture, and some of those unknown friends, whom death for the first time 
brings to light, have erected a neat little monument over him, bearing 
a palette and easel, and another inscription from Hamlet applied to 
Yorick — " A fellow of infinite -est," &c. 



104 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

And here, sadder than all, to us who knew him well, and, despite his 
great faults, lo?ed him well, too, crumbles the form of Henry A. Buck- 
ingham — of whom we may well quote Willis'' noble lines : 

" He was born taller than he might walk beneath the 8tar» ; 
And, with a spirit tempered like a god's, 
He was sent blindfold on a path of light 
And turned asice and perished.'' 

Poor Harry Buckingham I A more unselfish or manly heart than 
thiue never beat itself to death. Courageous everywhere, towards 
himself, he did not dare to face the detail and the discipline of the 
science of life. To escape the meanness, as he called it, of being 
economical, he never earned money until he was compelled by hunger — 
then squandered in an hour what had cost him so dear, and reduced 
himself to the degradation of asking from those who owed him nothing. 
Dissipation soon came in to aid in pressing him to the earth — friends 
wearied in their fruitless efforts to save him from himself — he went 
rapidly down, down, down, stumbling over every round in the ladder — 
and, with al^his glorious gifts and noble aspirations — ^here he lies. 
Not a stone marks the spot where sleep the teeming brain and throb- 
bing heart of one of fortune's most richly endowed and yet most 
nnhappy children. 

And now we come to a little grave — indeed, a twin grave, if you 
mark it well. The history of that infant double grave — how common, 
yet oh, how full of sadness ! The first to claim this pleasant and 
dreamless sleep, and thus escape the fiery battle of life, was a little girl, 
the first sole darling of the home she made so happy. Five years of 
unclouded love and joy — then Death strode over the sunny threshold, 
and his shadow darkened hearth and heart forever. No — not forever. 
Though the lost one is never forgotten, even for a single hour, yet the 
grief is softened ; another has come to claim the eii.pty place in the 
parent's hearts — a lovely, bright-eyed boy. Oh, how they love him ! 
How fearfully and closely they cling to him, lest he too should escape 
them ! And in the fatal fifth year, almost on the anniversary of his 
little sister's departure, he too bowed his head and returned to God. 
They have placed him side by side with their other lost darling — and 
they have added to the simple inscription that marked her silent cradle, 
only the touching words, " Her Brother." It fills the eyes with tears 
to read it. 

Let us stop a moment at the neat and charming grounds of the 
Unitarian Church of Brooklyn. Once we wandered, in the bright 
•amraer, with a still brighter being, through its flowery mazes — but 
those flowers have already bloomed five ever-bright summers ever her 
cold bosom, where the wild heart, once so joyous, beats no more forever. 
Childish and beautiful spirit seest thou me now, wandering idly among 
these withered flowers, and smilest in thy spiritual abode upon the way- 
ward companion of thy brightest hours oa earth ? And seest thou tliat 
the beating heart is still unwithered, and that the full tide of glowing life 
pours panting through these veins, fed with hopes and passions and 
affections in which thou bearest no part ? Farewell, " spirto gentil !" 
— Since thou wert lain here, I have bent above thy grave, but not, as 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 105 

now, alone. Other tender eyes, looking out from a torn and fatally 
wounded heart, wept for the ineffable rest of thy fragrant bed. She, 
too, sleeps at last, and both your images mingle iu a dim dream that 
floats above my head. Life's river is too strong and deep to pause 
before the graves that crowd its banks, even though the wave remem- 
bers the faces that look into it no more. It is only when the sunbeams 
of an eternal passion illuminated its profoundest depths and are with- 
drawn again, that the stream itself dries up. 

But we must idle no more among the idle graves — the pastime is too 
welcome, and too sweet to be long indulged, until one comes kere to 
claim citizenship in this lovely and peaceful realm. The walks are filled 
with slowly moving lingerers — the black omnibus plies its busy way, 
noiselessly al©ng the winding walks. Solemn voices go up through the 
clear air, floating away purely to heaven — the sun withdraws the tide 
of daylight towards the west, and the shadows point trustfully to the 
east. We must follow the course of the retreating sun, and bid once 
more adien to these tempting shades — calmer, and wiser, and better, we 
hope, for this brief communion with nature and the past, and with 
increased strength and patience to earn at last the peace and rest we 
leave behind as. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 

A TOUCH AT MANNERS AND MORALS. 

A TOUKG lady entering a crowded drawing-room, and finding all the 
seats occupied, who should walk up to a gentleman and seat herself oa 
his lap, would be very apt to create a " sensation." And a gentleman, 
who should sit down beside a lady on the sofa and put his arm round 
her waist, would most likely be ordered out of the house by the host, 
and horsewhipped by the lady's husband or brother. 

But young ladies in full dress with bare shoulders and arms think it 
all right to bundle into a full omnibus and seat themselves, sans ceremonie, 
upon the latps of men who are entire stangors to them, who may be 
pickpockets or blackguards, or who may have some cutaneous contagi- 
ous disease. Nay — they seem it capital fun ; and we actually saw a 
very ma gnificently got-up young lady, the other evening, set herself 
astride the right and left knee of two gentlemen, and ride in that infa- 
mous and disgusting position from twentieth street to Castle Garden. 
She was accompanied by a gentleman and two other ladies, and the 
wkole party were evidently " highly respectable." She took her seat 
with a giggle, and maintained it with as much sang froid as if she were 
sitting in an arm-chair of her own drawing-room. In the same stage, 
another dashing young lady came in and squeezed herself in between a 
lady and a man with crutches, making sevea on the seat. The cripple 
soon got his arm round her waist — and when she left the stage, at Bar- 
clay street, a juvenile young youth, with a just sprouting moustache — 
a " fast" young man, wiio evidently knew more than his mother, left at 
the same time, and followed her down the street. She was evidently 
not a prefessedly bad character, yet nobody could pity her for thus vol- 
untarily subjecting herself to insult. 

Go into any theatre in New York, and you will find every other 
woman in the house, minus the old and ugly, with the arm of the next 
gentleman round her neck, and frequently the fingers tucked under her 
off shoulder, while the unconscious creature, looking as if butter 
wouldn't melt in her mouth, leans up against the manly breast, " like a 
sick kitten to a hot brick." This habit is becoming more and 
more prevalent. It would seem that men and women had no homes — 
no sacred places for the exchange of their mutual eldearraents, and 
were reduced to the necessity of dragging the worship of the Lares and 
Penates into the streets and theatre. 

We do not know how this may strike other people, but to us it seems 
truly monstrous. We are not over-nice or super-fastidious ; but these 
daily and nightly exblbitions by soi-disant respectable, Tu-tuoua and 



FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 107 

refined young ladies, inspires us with disgust and horror. We never 
sec an exhibition ©f this kind without repeating to ourselves the obser- 
vation of a raan experienced in the ways of woman : 

" The breast thus publicly resigned to man, 
In private may resist him if it can." 

Old Splitfoot, they say, is not so black as he is painted ; but we 
declare that no one, not even Mrs. Trollope herself, has yet done full 
ju.stice to the detestable habit of tobacco-chewing and spitting, in jxiblic 
places. It is, strictly speaking, an outrage of common decency for one 
to expectorate at all, in the presence of others. That is a fuuctiou 
which the natural human instinct places with those which are to be 
performed in private. But now, nothing is more common than to see 
a whole bench at the theatre, or a pew in church, occupied by nasty 
wretches, all the time chewing and twisting their jaws about, distorting 
their faces, and squirting their dii?gusting saliva in all directions — leav- 
ing pools of liquid nastiuess under foot, for the fine .silk dresses and neat 
boots of the ladies to splash and draggle through. In omnibuses, cars, 
ferry-boats, &c., this habit is almost universal — and it appears to be espe- 
cially affected by our soi-disant fashionable young men. A man who 
spits in company is an unmitigated vulgarian, and ought instantly, on 
the first offence, to be kicked out of society. 

As to tobacco-chewing, it befouls the teeth and corrupts the breath 
to so great a degree that a lady cannot, without a strong effort to over- 
come her repugnance, approach a man who indulges in this disgusting 
habit, though she may be ever so fond of him. And we verily believe 
that many cases of conjugal coolness and final estrangement — perhaps 
separation — may be traced directly to the foetid breath created by chew- 
ing tobacco. . Smoking is bad enough, and drinking wine is barely tol- 
erable — but to come near a neat, sweet, balmy woman whese instincts 
all spring from physical as well as moral purity, reeking with the yellow 
ooze of a tobacco quid, is an abomination that no delicate and sensitive 
woman can forgive. 

But spitting is an almost universal habit, even among those who do 
not chew. And a very dirty and injurious habit it is. This continual 
exciting of the salivary glands eventually leads to a quasi inflammation 
of the mucous membrane of the larynx and trachea, and so goes down- 
ward to the substance of the lungs themselves, producing cough and 
consumption. It is only a habit — entirely unnecessjiry to comfort or 
convenience — and which a resolute will and a decent ambition to be 
clean and respectable, can conquer in three days. Try it, oh ! perpet- 
ual spittcr ! Whenever you feel au inclination to make a disagreeable 
grunt and eject your .saliva in the presence of others, keep it down, and 
swallow a glass of Croton. You will find this cold water cure vpry 
easy and very effectual. 

The morals of the men are quite on a par with the morals of the 
women. Ever since the fall of man, which turned the beautiful uni- 
verse into a bazaar, and made all the men and women merely shop>- 
keepers, the vice of fashionable swindling has prevailed. Every now 
and then, some person of great respectability and unlimited credit, iu 



108 FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK. 

whom the whole community placed the most absolute confidence, is 
suddenly discovered to have been a swindler for years, and is removed 
at once from the circles where he has been so much respected, into the 
classification of the Tombs and the convict's cell. Gentlemen of dis- 
tinguished political position, after a life of active influence and useful 
virtue — eminent financiers, legislators, jurists, divines, whose names are 
honorably entwined in the very life of the community where they have 
grown up and prospered — are suddenly discovered to have been thieves, 
forgers, libertines, scoundrels, all this time, who, instead of enjoying all 
the honors of respectability and the beatitudes of wealth, ought to have 
been at hard labor in the State Prison. 

Now, there is something appalling in these frequent illustrations of 
the gigantic injustice of human laws and human society, and in the uni- 
versal uncertainty, doubt and suspicion which they engender in every 
mind. If to-day a reverend divine, who for half a century has been 
regarded with veneration as a missionary of God among men, is discov- 
ered to be a libertine, a cheat, and a drunkard — if the man whom all 
Wall street regarded as the model of integrity and punctuality, commits 
forgeries for a hundred thousand on his own father, and escapes from 
the country, an unbranded felon — if a legislator of immaculate reputa- 
tion and spotless honor betrays his trust and swindles the government 
out of millions — what are honest men to think ? Is it not natural that 
the man v/ho examines his own heart, and finds that he is honest, and 
that ke is utterly incapable of any of these things, should look with dis- 
trust upon all around him? If these are guilty, who then is innocent ? 
Why, it is enough to make a misanthrope or an anchorite of every 
really honest man in the community. And the worst of it is, that every 
one, in his own little circle of observation, knows several individuals of 
whom he greatly fears that similar things may be true. What is to be 
done to arrest this temble progress of individuafl depravity, and the suii- 
piaion and distrust it engenders ? 



CHAPTER XXXII. 

A SATURDAY NIOHT RAMBLB. 

New York is a sort of metropolitan aloe, a weekly plaut that goes 
into full bloom bat once in the seven days. During the rest of the 
week, everybody is engaged at his or her several occupations — the 
mechanic at his bench, the laborer at his hod, the rag-picker with his 
bag, the beggar on his corner. Even the children of New York are 
steady workers, notwithstanding their apparent riotous idleness. The 
little girl with her broom watches the sky for rain ; and when everybody 
else feels gloomy and nncemfortable, M-ith the shower pattering about 
their ears, and their patent leathers spoiling in the mud, she is as merry 
as a clover-field to see the shower come down, and flies to her crossing 
as blythely as a be© to the horse-chestnut trees. The boys, (•j, all 
find employment — or employ themselves in trying to do so — for a good 
share of the time daring the week. But Saturday night Ls the poor 
man's holiday. T^lie laborer receiving his weekly pittance, trudgOR 
homeward with a light step, his honest heart swelling with happiness 
at the pleasure he is now able to confer upon the family. The new6lx)y 
relaxes his cry, and gives his overtaxed lungs repose — while he 
dances into the street with insane glee, " bound to have a first-rate 
spree." The pale house-wife, the ragged pauper, the tidy, the wretched, 
the handsome, the depraved — all welcome the approach of Saturday 
night as a season to be hoped and patiently waited for. 

In short, Saturday night jirescnts the city in an entirely now and 
more exciting aspect than any other time of the week ; and he who has 
not closely studied it then, knows in reality but half his lesson. 

Let as set out from Nassau street. 

Six o'clock in Naiwan street ! and out from the narrow entrances and 
dark staircases of all thoiotall and many-windowed buildings — uj) along 
Beckman, and Ann, and Fulton slrcots — the tide swelling ritpidly as it 
flows — pours into Nassau street the living stream of the New York Gri- 
sctterie, seeking their homes, after the laliors of the day. Bright faces, 
happy looks, trim ancles and cheap calico gowns mii:-gle as far as yoa 
can see — while plump slioulders and round chests, which would make 
the West End die with envy, aud covered with coarse grey sliawls ci 
merino mantillas, swelling out grandly where health and c«\crcise hare 
placed the seductive natural tonrnure, that crinol.ne attempts in 
vain to emulate — tell you that work is over, and that some ten thou- 
sand hard-working girls are let loose for the day. Where will they go 



no FIFTEEN MINUTES AROUND NEW YORK: . 

now ? How spend the evening ? First, home, to tea, and a total meta- 
morphosis of their toilette. The calico gown will be replaced by the 
gaudy Catharine street brocade — the brown hood by a dashing bonnet 
■from Division street, twice as far off the head, and twice as " gallus," 
as Madame Lawson's best — and the grey shawl will disappear like 
Cinderella's kitc^ien robe, supplanted by a rakish and splendid matilla 
or scarf, falling off the symmetrical shoulders, and suggesting even 
more than it reveals. Then, for Sykesey and the National, <yc Chris- 
ty's, or Owen's, or the Bowery, where an evening of right down hearty 
amusement repays them over and over again for all the hard work of 
the day. 

He who doesn't see Nassau street at six o'clock in the day, misses one 
of the finest and most interesting portions of the great panorama of life 
in New York. Character, in many of its most piquant varieties, is to be 
studied here ; and beauty, in some of its rarest and most attractive 
forms — uniting delicacy with health and strength, and the modest 
demeanor of virtue with the undulating and free grace only possessed 
by women and waves — may be met with almost exclusively in these 
daily processions of the people. We wonder what these saucy, laugh- 
ing, romping, joyous creatures think of Lucy Stone, the Reverend 
Antoinette Brown, and the whole fanfaronade of Woman's Rights I 

But among all the indications of Saturday night, no place affords so 
many or such striking ones as the markets. Here there is a regular 
congestion ; and, as in the single man the stomach is the principal point 
of commotion, so in the "grand man," Or city, the market is the great 
focus of interest. He who lives at ease upon his income — or his land- 
lady — scolds if the steak be a thought muscular, or the eggs a shade 
too old — whose household experience consists in going to bed, getting 
up, breakfasting, dining, supping and sleeping again — can scarcely 
form to himself any conception of the importance of Saturday night to 
the large class of our population who go to market but once a week. 
To them, the return of that time is waited for with hopeful stomachs, 
half fed during all Ifce week on what remains from the last supply, and 
■what (^A be "picked up" around. We know it is a melancholy thing 
to say, and still more melancholy to think of, that a couple of hundred 
thousand people in a single city — and those, too, who work the hardest 
and longest and in labors the most repulsive, and which ought, there- 
fore, to be the best rewarded— should be absolutely cramped for some- 
thing to eat But it is sadly true. 

Let us enter Washington Market. What a squeeze — what a crowd I 
It is not here mere elbows and knees, and brawny chests, and broad, 
stout backs you are to encounter. Now you stumble against a firkin, 
and now are overset by a bag. And there is a woman who has 
somehow — it is impossible to tell how — squeezed through between you 
and your next neighbor ; but her basket, to which she clings with death- 
like tenacity, appears to be made of less elastic material than herself. 
It has assumed the position of a balloon, and forms a target for a score 
of noses pushed on from the rear. There is no chance of its coming 
through, that is certain ; and the woman will not let go of it — that seems 
equally clear. There is nothing, therefore, to do but for you to stoop 
^nd crawl under it. As you are in the act of performing this difficult 



FIFTEEN mNUTES AROUND NEW YORK, 1 1 1 

and delicate paspage, a conple of salt mackerel at the bottom of the 
basket, as if in sympathy fur your siilToring, bedew your Leary with 
briny tears, while a picc« of coriie<l b( of, with a large slice of the fat, 
lovingly gre;isc3 your coat collar. You at length get on your feet, and 
ascertain that you have b?en kneeling in a basket of stale eggs, aud. 
that youi'new bhick pants are in, what would be called, in the Bowery, 
" something of a muss." The Irish hu.xter woman, too, .seeing this 
wholesale destruction of lw?r brood of incipient chickens, pours out a vol- 
ley of abu.se upon your devoted head, and loudly demands compen.sation 
for her loss. You gladly pay whatever she requires ; and at length, 
by dint of pulling and squeezing, and being pulled and squeezed, we 
make our way through the lower walk, past the butter and cheeze 
stands, the stalls for carcasses of dead hogs and sheep, now ankle-deep 
in mud, and so on into the fish nuirket. If you are at all an amateur ia 
smells, yon surely will be gratified here to your heart's content. But 
don't tread on that pile of eels, for they are slippery fellows, and would 
be very likely to bring " you down upon them." And see there, a fine 
green lobster has caught your foot in his pincers, and will be through 
the leather directly. You will find him the closest friend you ever had. 
He'll stick like a burr. 

But all this is quite comfortable and genteel to Catharine Market, on 
the other side of the city. Here is New York life in one of its most ac- 
tive and demonstrative phases. So many attempts have bcon made to 
describe this class — all of them producing but the merest shadow of the 
original — that we should despair of better success were we to try the 
dangerous ground. Imagine all the coarseness, all the shameless filth, 
all the squalor and brutality from which you have escaped, and then 
conceive steeped in it to th<; lijis a population made reckless by igno- 
rance, want and vice, and utterly regardless of public opinion, or even 
unconscious of its existence. Then you will have some faint idea of the 
many who frequent Catharine Market of a Saturday night. So be sure 
we do not mean to say there are not many respectable, well-to-do people 
who some there, but we speak entirely of the lower stratum of its cus- 
tomers. 

The truth is, that the condition, both moral and physical, in which 
such a city as New York permits its poor to exist, is utterly disgrace- 
ful — not to the poor, for they deserve only our deepest pity, but to the 
community — Wic j)Owerfiil, eidightened, wealthy community — which per- 
mits its unfortunate children, who k;iow uothing but how to work, to 
become thus horribly degraded. Are our readers weary of hearing this 
repeated ? liut it must be repeated and reiterated, until governmeut 
and the wealthy know and feel its truth, and see clearly their boundea 
duty to that purtion of their fellow creatures who are not able, in the 
sharp and selfish competition of keener brains, to take care of them- 
selves. 



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